


mon cœur qui bat (my heart, beating)

by Amber, fairbanks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Background Character Death, Background Georgie Barker/Timothy Stoker, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive, Fake Marriage, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Statements, Temporary Amnesia, individual chapters have content warnings and explicit content tags in the start of chapter notes, let me know if i need to add any
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 227,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/pseuds/fairbanks
Summary: Jon and Elias fake a marriage, fall in love.Written as an RP and therefore multi-POV.





	1. elias rescues jon.

**Author's Note:**

> **Standard disclaimer:** Please don't link this to the creators. Please don't repost this fic on other websites. Transformative works or quotes with a link are fine and you don't need to tell me or ask permission (but I would love to know!)
> 
>  **Less standard disclaimer:** This is an unbetaed, cowritten, multi-POV mess of a document that was RPed by two people over the last six months and remains ongoing. Sometimes it attempts to catch up to being canon-compliant (which means various TMA S3 spoilers). Sometimes it just rolls with popular theories because fuck canon. A lot of the time it contradicts itself. It includes polyamory, marriage, explicit kink, problematic relationships, an adopted teen, character death outside the main pairings, original characters, text message conversations, and ten million dumb fic tropes. I completely expect people to think it's fluffy bullshit.
> 
> Then why am I posting it? Mostly because it's too big for a single google document and I like to read this fluffy bullshit when I'm sad. Maybe you will too.

"I think," Elias suggests calmly as he gets into the driver's' seat of the car, "That it's about time you moved out of Georgina Barker's place, don't you?"

He probably has a point, smugly delivered as it is: Jon is obviously no longer safe there. In fact, it's possible Jon is no longer safe anywhere, given Elias just had to rescue him from some terrible and brutal ceremony in the middle of the woods. It's disappointing really: he's been leading Jon around by the nose for weeks now, so he doesn't expect brilliance, but he surely should have known better than to get himself kidnapped. 

Elias starts the car. The sun-shade sticker across the top of the windscreen is patterning his dashboard with little crescents of light, the eclipse still not yet over.

"Do try not to get blood on the upholstery," he adds casually, as he turns back towards London proper.

 

Jon tries to muster the energy to be indignant, maybe snap something vaguely snide back to regain even the slightest semblance of normalcy in this situation. That's hard to do when his heart is still racing, loud enough he can feel it all the way up his throat. He hasn't entirely caught his breath yet, and Elias is telling him not to bleed on the car seat.

Smug asshole. He can think that, at least, as he closes his eyes, shifting as much as his bleeding side could manage. 

He focuses on the bit about Georgie for now, swallowing down the discomfort at Elias' casual knowledge of her. "She isn't... she isn't one to take no for an answer when she's made up her mind on something," he mutters. It's half-hearted, even if Georgie didn't want him to leave he knew Elias had a damn point. He usually did, unfortunately.

"Where are we going?"

 

He's been _hand delivering_ packages to her house: Elias doesn't need the omnipresence of his domain to know about Georgie. Still, that's not where he's taking Jon, nor Jon's actual flat (assuming his landlord didn't toss him out), nor the hospital, even though that's probably where they should be going, all things being as they are.

"My place," he answers, cuts his eyes briefly across at Jon in amusement like he's aware of the reaction that's likely to elicit. "I don't actually live at the Institute, you know."

 

That probably surprises Jon more than it should, and he glances over, brow raising. The fact Elias caught the shock makes his lips thin. Of course.

"I know." He did attempt to stalk Elias along with the others, once upon a time. Of course he never did manage to actually follow Elias home, and he now wonders (knows) it was likely due to the fact Elias knew exactly what he was doing at the time. "Why? You could just as easily drop me off at my own flat, or the Archives."

(Part of him is forever paranoid now, and that part of him instantly wonders if Elias has decided Jon needs to go the way of Gertrude and, this time, no body would be found.

He tries not to let it show on his face and fails, as per usual.)

 

It's always sort of funny when Jon asks him demanding questions; sometimes he wants to not answer him just because that's doubtless a rare experience in the Archivist's life. But on this occasion, he refrains from being obtuse, since Jon looks concerned for his life. His life that Elias just _saved_. Honestly.

"I'd rather not let you out of my sight until I'm absolutely certain nobody is going to try and make you into some ritual sacrifice of the solar eclipse," he informs Jon calmly. That doesn't entirely rule out the Institute, if he could rustle up a first aid kit, but, pettily, it's past five on a Friday and unlike some people he isn't a fiend for overtime.

 

Jon wouldn't say that clears his doubts completely but it does put him somewhat at ease. "Lord, is this some sort of... of Archivist _thing_ or was I just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Needless to say he was snooping somewhere he probably shouldn't be, for information people probably didn't want him to have.

Typical Friday night these days. Part of him dearly missed being able to stay in the Archives and do his damn work without constant threat of being a monster's punching bag.

"... thank you, I suppose. For saving me." Well, that wasn't the most gracious way to thank him but it was sincere, in his Jon way. "Since when do you step in to help? I thought you were more 'hands off,' as it were."

 

Oh? Oh? What's that? Did Jon just thank him? He'd like it a little louder, please. Once more with feeling, as it were. (Jon may think of him as smug a lot, but just for a second he gets a glimpse of what smug actually looks like on Elias, before it's gone again.)

"Mm," he agrees. "I prefer not to do field work these days." It's just that if he'd taken the time to manipulate someone else into going they probably wouldn't have been successful, probably wouldn't have even been in time. Elias puts a lot of stock in scheduling, in _orchestration_ , but sometimes when the world throws a real curveball it simply isn't possible. He isn't actually capable of premonition, just of a very good facsimile.

Jon's going to have to draw those conclusions himself, though, because Elias isn't going to explain why he, specifically, is here. Instead he's going to circle back to Jon's other question. "You're a representative of something greater than yourself, Jon," he says, slightly patronizing. "That's a lot of power for anyone who knows how to properly harness it. Of course, most factions aren't stupid enough to make such a direct move against us — but only if you don't dangle yourself in front of them at the right place and right time."

So, a bit of both, is how he could have summed that up with a lot less words.

 

Unsurprisingly Jon pretty much immediately regrets saying thank you, partially because of the look he swore he caught pass Elias' face and partially because that was just the sort of person Jon was. Either way, the damage is done, and Elias is being largely vague with his answers, as per usual.

He doesn't bother stifling a sigh. Even tired, slightly annoyed and hurting he can't help dissect everything to try and understand. "But you did, meaning this doesn't fall into whatever plans you have brewing. If that's true I suppose it's good to know my life is worth something more than your well wishes." There's a definite grumble to his tone. Ungrateful little shit.

"As far as I've seen it's _you_ they don't care to cross for one reason or another. They all seem rather derogatory about the Beholding itself," he points out, and there was certainly enough quips about passive watchers and what not to form something of an opinion there. Maybe they were just mocking him, that was something that happened often enough anyway. He considers grumbling some more, specifically about the fact he did no _dangling_ , thank you very much.

Instead he hesitantly asks, "Georgie— does she have any protections from all this, being marked by the End? Surely that must mean something."

 

It's hardly surprising, to hear that he's what keeps the wolves at bay, as it were. Kill enough people and you start to get a bit of a reputation.

"Must it?" Elias replies, a little mockingly. "I've told you before, haven't I, that it's pointless for you to worry about anybody else." Which probably seems hypocritical when he's fresh from a rescue, but stepping in for Jon was more like a queen moving into threat to protect a knight rather than anything so base as sentimentality.

But he also understands Jon well enough to know he won't be satisfied with that answer. "She'll be fine, Jon," he adds in a slightly less supercilious tone. "So long as she doesn't go poking her nose where it's not wanted."

 

Jon stiffens, irritation familiar and the slight stab of helplessness increasingly common as well. He could try to fight Elias on that, snap that just because he wasn't quite human anymore hardly meant he was going to blindly accept all this. If letting go of care was that easy Sasha wouldn't sting quite as much as she did.

He's tired though, and chews on his thoughts long enough to allow Elias to continue. Those words caught his attention far more and he glances over, gaze probing. Frankly he didn't know what to make of Elias sometimes, cocky and condescending one moment then, occasionally, offering something like reassurance that seemed all too human.

Because Elias probably wasn't human either, was he? And maybe this was all part of his manipulations or whatever nonsense he was pulling, but Jon still wanted to know.

"She thought you were just part of a cult," he finds himself saying for some damn reason before hesitantly continuing. "... I'll move out. I wanted to anyway, she just—" cared about him, she says. Friendship and loyalty and all that. He breathes out his nose. "It doesn't matter. That's what you want to hear, yes? No more roommates."

 

"Good," Elias agrees, with an air of finality and satisfaction. "Though I doubt it will much assuage her concerns that you're in a cult. Nonsense, obviously, our divinity is markedly external to us, and I'm not exactly some charismatic figurehead." Quite by design, in fact; a paper-pusher in a suit is invisible, and good observation endeavours not to be a part of its own picture.

Anyway, mostly he's making fun — of cults, rather than Jon, for once. 

They turn off straight into central London evening traffic, and Elias sighs, looking over at Jon properly while they're at a standstill, considering his injuries — or maybe just evaluating how much blood he has actually gotten on the cream of the car interiors, it's hard to say with Elias.

 

Jon huffs something that might have been amused once at that. "Yes, wolf in sheep's clothing and all that. Certainly tricked us long enough." He probably should be more bitter at that, and blames the lack of vehemence on exhaustion. "You're good at deception, what would you suggest I tell her so she'll accept my moving out?"

Yes, that was taking a piss at Elias a little. Good choices aren't exactly his forte.

All things considered his heart was much slower now, tension draining to ache and a relief he should know better than to feel around a murderer. He feels it anyway, if Elias wanted him dead then there wasn't much he could do in this state to stop it anyway, and when he catches Elias' look he feels more wary than anything. 

Believe it or not he did actually try not to bleed too much on the seat, shifting his injured and sluggishly bleeding side away. It didn't help much and there's certainly some blood dripping down the seat, but an attempt was made. It was the only major injury besides the usual roughing up of being dragged to the sacrificial altar.

Whatever they were carving into his side wasn't too deep and didn't take shape. He didn't really want to know how much they would have carved before being done.

"What?" He asks, probably bleeding unintentionally on the seat some more when he shifts.

 

"Nothing," he says when he's caught considering, looking blank-faced back to the road, because he is particularly good at deception (Jon saying so he takes as a compliment). "Just thinking how much that reupholstery is going to cost."

Not concerned for his Archivist's well-being in the slightest. Obviously.

 

Obviously. And Jon obviously shouldn't huff again in something far too close to amusement. "Write it off as a work expense. That's true enough, unfortunately."

He gives up somewhat on trying to keep the seat clean, resting back against it because hell, Elias could deal with a bloody seat. Serves him right for all the vague nonsense.

He tries not to consider the fact that he's actually bleeding on something for petulant reasons. His life is ridiculous enough, thanks.

 

That does get a chuckle, at least, an approving glance as their car inches forward. For a moment the atmosphere between them is almost — nice? As nice as it can be in an expensive car that smells like blood. As nice as it could ever be between the two of them. But Elias' plans aren't particularly better served by Jon liking him, so he — has no real investment in keeping it that way. 

"And did you actually find out anything useful while you were nearly getting yourself killed?" he asks, because prompting Jon to talk about his investigations is about what's going to pass for small talk between them, unless Jon really does want to hear about the Institute budget allocations.

 

Jon hesitates, both unsure he wanted to admit what little he gleaned was hardly worth the price and unsure of how much information he wanted to give Elias. It seems a pointless rebellion though, given Elias clearly had his own ways of finding out what he needed.

"Not much," he finally admits, begrudging. "I got information from one of my kidnappers, a few names I'll follow up on. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for." And boy people hated being compelled. Too bad for them they didn't think to gag him or something.

"I don't suppose you know where Gertrude would hide something," he glances over, tone dry. "I suspect if you did you'd refuse to answer me anyway."

 

"I give you all the answers you require," Elias says, seeming a little bored with this line of inquiry. "It's hardly my fault if you don't have the intellectual capacity to figure them out."

Probably if Jon ever finds out where Gertrude hid the skin there'll be a big envelope and a cassette tape with it.

"You could always try and compel me again," he suggests, seeming cheerful at the idea. So there's one person who doesn't hate it. "Though not while I'm driving, please."

 

Jon isn't so tired that he doesn't bristle at that. Being denied answers was always frustrating, even before this Archivist nonsense, and being denied them _condescendingly_ was a special hell.

Have more petulant bleeding on your car seat. "In _your_ estimation. And you are the one that hired me, thank you." 

He sighs. He couldn't even try compelling the man without him enjoying it. "Marvelous, at least there's one person I can try it on who won't punch me for it. I suppose Gertrude never tried it on you because she knew it wouldn't work." And worse, he'd get a kick out of it. Cocky prick.

 

"Gertrude liked me too much," Elias says diffidently, giving away that information solely because he knows it isn't what Jon is expecting to hear. He's not about to unearth his dynamic with Jon's predecessor for perusal, but it can't hurt to make it clear that at some point, to someone, he had been likeable.

"But yes, if you're looking to practice, I'd be happy to provide feedback." Like a performance review but for your supernatural powers, Jon. Except with an added layer of creepiness — Elias is a little too enthusiastic about the idea for it to just be helpfulness. A kick indeed.

The traffic finally moves at a serious pace, and it isn't long at all before Elias turns into the underground carpark of a Kensington apartment block and parks. "Come on then," he says briskly, doesn't bother attempting to take Jon's arm.

It's near impossible to move in the world of the Lukases and Fairchilds without knowing how to put your money on display, so Elias owns a penthouse flat in this fancy little gated community, one with private lift access and wooden floors, big windows and marble countertops, and an excess of bookshelves that alternate unlabeled volumes and curiosities. It's perhaps not vastly spacious — this is Central London, after all — but it's also not the sort of place you own without, mm, a trust fund. Or a supernatural understanding of the stock market. Or an inhumanly long lifespan and some good investments. One of the three.

"Don't touch anything," Elias tells him when the lift doors open, directing Jon immediately to a kitchen stool where he is welcome to bleed as much as he wants. "For your own safety." (Some of his collection would probably do better in Artifact Storage, is what he means by that.)

 

Nope, not expecting that, and Jon falls silent, taking both that and the invitation to test his powers with a sigh. Whenever he had conversations with Elias these days it felt like he was losing a battle he never signed up for in the first place. 

When they park Jon struggles to pull himself out of the car, the movement jostling his side and making the sluggish bleeding run a little faster. The distraction of the opulent wealth is a welcome one as he trudges along. "Lord, I don't even want to know how you manage a place like this," he mutters as they head along. 

He's glad when they finally reach the penthouse- and of course it is one. If he wasn't so preoccupied by his exhaustion at the trip he'd be taking the surroundings in, likely with a scoff. Instead he heads without complaint to the kitchen stool, glad to stop and sit and bleed on Elias' expensive floors.

"Afraid I'm going to ruin something worth more than my yearly income?" Yeah, Jon completely misses the more supernatural implications there.

 

Elias laughs quietly at that. "That too, I suppose." He cares absolutely zero percent about Jon getting his poor-person blood everywhere, mostly because he doesn't care much about anything in this flat bar himself, and maybe Jon. (Probably the only thing more obnoxious than having money like this is having it and absolutely not caring about it in the slightest.)

But he isn't wasting time on chit-chat, heading for his bathroom instead. When he returns it's with a damp towel and a hefty first aid kit, which he opens on the counter, starts to take out nearly labelled plastic packages containing what he needs.

"Strip to the waist, will you," he instructs politely, rolling up his shirtsleeves, jacket already abandoned over the back of a chair somewhere.

 

It takes the 'that too' for Jon to realize there's probably dangerous things around, and that's when he finally takes a more focused look around. Everything seemed normal enough, which was probably either more suspicious or telling that he wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind. Either way, that was one rule of Elias' he'd be happy to follow, thank you.

He barely notices Elias left so when he returns it makes Jon blink blearily. It takes a full half minute for the order to register, and with it the awkwardness that was never not going to happen when asking a guy like Jon to strip for any reason. He hesitates a moment before exhaling through his nose and doing as he was told. 

It's nice to be back in his button ups, thanks, because pulling a What The Ghost? tshirt over his head was not something that sounded pleasant given the situation. He holds his shirt a moment, too blood stained on the side now and no, he had a feeling this one was as good as done. He wasn't particularly good at getting blood out of clothes, something he'd probably have to learn now, huh?

He focuses on Elias instead, and the surreal situation itself. "Prepared for anything, aren't you? Unless bringing injured people to your posh flat is a habit."

 

"I think," Elias says with a touch of bite, "Given the violent animosity occasionally directed towards my person, I can hardly be faulted for being prepared."

So perhaps he can bleed after all.

Despite the sharp note to his words, his hands are somewhere between impersonal and gentle when he takes a hold of Jon's bicep, guides his elbow forward a little to give him better access to the wound. It's a gory mess: Elias uses the towel first, carefully, to clean away all the smeared blood. Then comes the disinfectant wipes: "This may sting," he informs Jon, not sounding at all sorry about it, the sadist.

Then he unwraps several butterfly stitches — every movement of Jon's arm is going to reopen some of these cuts if he doesn't tape them closed. "Be still for me," he murmurs. Jon can be awkward all he likes, bare-chested in Elias's fancy kitchen, so long as he obeys while Elias leans in and applies the thin plaster strips.

 

"So you do bleed." Probably not good to be a little snotty to the man who saved him, and more so the man who could very easily kill him right here and now, just like his predecessor. There were questions on the tip of his tongue, as there always were, and it was difficult to swallow them. What _was_ Elias, exactly? Clearly not human, right?

He goes quiet as Elias starts to work on his wound, watching Elias more than the injury. Again he was struck with the duality Elias sometimes showed, cold but but cautious in a way that showed care he certainly didn't need to attempt. The thought was crushed when Elias began cleaning the wound, and Jon inhaled sharply, trying to keep from making any sounds. 

Being around Elias now always felt a little like being near a predator, made him want to attempt to keep his weaknesses to himself. Not that it really mattered, he wasn't delusional enough to think Elias didn't _know_ somehow anyway.

The disinfectant is what does it, of course, and he makes a pained sound deep in his throat before biting his lip in an attempt to squash it. He tries to fix Elias with an unimpressed look but it mostly falls flat, and after a long beat he nods to Elias' order. Awkwardly, of course.

He holds still, clearly fighting the urge to flinch away as well as he can. When Elias is in between strips he mutters, "you're suspiciously good at this."

 

Elias looks up from where he's crouched to be more on a level with his work surface (Jon, Jon's skin is his 'work surface'.) "Practice," he says opaquely. "And a steady hand." Which could mean anything from having been in a war to having studied with the Anatomy Students to simply knowing someone accident prone. As with all things Elias, it is a mystery.

Once he's got the stitches down, the rest follows fairly swiftly: a thick rectangle of gauze that covers the entire unfinished pattern marked into Jon's skin, held in place with medical tape that Elias tears neatly with his teeth. Then some absorbent padding, and finally a long bandage.

"It needs to be tight enough to keep everything in place, but not so tight you can't breath as usual," Elias instructs, as he begins to wrap it around Jon's torso, passing the unfurling scroll of bandage from hand to hand. "Tell me if I need to make adjustments."

None of these things seem to bring him the brief flicker of relish he'd had when Jon had groaned all muffled and pained: he's all business.

The end of the bandage clips invisibly onto the rest and after a last once-over Elias seems satisfied that Jon's most grievous wound is properly dressed. "Now," he says, pressing the side a forefinger (still coloured with Jon's blood) to his mouth in thought. "Anything else needs looking at?"

 

"Practice," Jon repeats, tone clearly pointing out how many answers that could lead to. He sighs, then winces when the movement jostles Elias' work. "You really enjoy running me in circles for answers, don't you?" He is most certainly frustrated by that, though it's tempered by exhaustion.

He doesn't bother nodding and waits for Elias to finish wrapping before he answers, "It's fine." And then, after a beat, "Thank you."

It's a begrudging thanks, again, likely more this time because he had the distinct feeling part of Elias was enjoying this. he shakes the feeling, and how Elias looks with blood staining his fingers. (Did he get any of Leitner's on him? Did he just kill the man and head right back to work?)

"... Some ice would be appreciated." The side of his jaw ached, and besides a few other bumps and bruises he was pretty sure he was fine. The only real problem was taken care of, and now he'd have yet another mark to add to the collection. He was starting to think that was an Archivist thing. He'd rather it not just be a Jonathan Sims _thing_.

He keeps watching Elias, and his resolve finally breaks. "What exactly are you, Elias?" The words have a definite compulsion to them, not particularly strong, like he was trying to not just suddenly compel his boss but his curiosity had other plans.

 

Elias' freezer is rather scant, so it's a matter of moments to retrieve a blue-gel ice pack from it, and a tea-towel to wrap it in from a cupboard (heedless of the bloody fingerprints he leaves on the pale finishings, the cloth, his own mouth.) 

It takes him off guard when Jon Asks. Elias stills with the wrapped pack in his hands, smiles to himself for a moment, eyes lidding. It really is an _incomparable_ sensation. But he doesn't even bother pretending he has to answer the question. Jon wasn't wrong in accusing him of enjoying a little _running in circles_.

"You really ought to learn how to better control that," he murmurs fondly, eyes bright, since he's certain the Archivist didn't actually mean for there to be compulsion in his voice; he takes Jon's jaw by the fingertips and angles it so he can press the ice-pack unerringly to his bruise, with enough deliberate pressure to be painful. "Not that I mind. Here. Hold that."

 

Sometimes Jon wonders if that flare of frustration at having his questions ignored came from him or whatever it was he was becoming. He knows it existed before he became Archivist, it was something that drove him to poke at monsters when anyone else who saw what he did would be smart enough to leave alone. He isn't sure it was ever so strong as it was now. So absurdly necessary.

Despite that he has the good grace to look slightly sheepish for accidentally letting the compulsion slip. He swallows knee-jerk apologies and they settle poorly with the frustration of before. "It's been trial and error, figuring it out," he mutters. His eyes narrow when Elias takes his jaw but he doesn't protest otherwise. He's a little preoccupied by the blood on Elias' face.

He does hiss at the pressure, reaching up to hold the ice-pack. "What does it feel like?" He's not sure why he asks but the sudden curiosity is hard to quell, though with only the stirrings of anything like compulsion. "You have... blood, there," he gestures awkwardly at his face.

 

Jon gestures to his mouth, and without breaking eye contact but also without any particular deliberation, Elias just swipes his tongue across his own lower lip like Jon was indicating — sauce, or something. It gets rid of the blood, at least?

Then he goes to the sink and thoroughly washes his hands like it never happened.

"So many questions, Jon," he murmurs, though he doesn't sound displeased by it. Once he's done cleaning, he pours Jon a glass of water for blood-loss rehydration — from the tap, in full view of Jon's paranoid gaze. And as he does he actually answers.

"It's difficult to describe. Have you ever used a tens machine? But that implies an electricity, that is — outside our domain. It's more like the feeling when someone you care about presses their mouth unexpectedly to your skin, that kind of shock. A warm tingle of connection with something bigger than oneself." Maybe Jon can even feel an echo of it, as Elias answers like he's a statement, coming back to lean on the counter, watching Jon like a cat. "My turn. What's it feel like to record?"

 

"You..." Jon stares a moment, pretty clearly taken aback by that. Logically he understands this is... what, Elias trying to psyche him out? More mind games? Proving a point? Again he's desperate to ask what Elias _is_ exactly. He knows he should just be horrified or disturbed, not curious as well.

He pointedly looks away as Elias heads to the sink, pressing the ice pack a little painfully to his jaw. 

He does look over when the water turns on, awkwardly glancing over again. "Well that- that is why you hired me. I think," he manages, taking the water with his free hand but not drinking it yet. 

Jon's awkwardness pretty much doubles at Elias' explanation and, let's be real, this is not a man who probably knows a lot about the feeling of a lover pressing their mouth to your skin. He nods haltingly anyway, because there is something droning about the words that give the impression regardless, like an experience he never truly felt was dredged up from his memory. His fingers tighten around glass, unsure of what to do with the information of how his compulsion made Elias feel, intimately. "That's... I see. Well. Rather more... intimate than 'tingly' implied."

The question distracts him. "It's funny, I've never put it to words before, not really." Admittedly there were very few people he'd even consider doing so, given how insane it sounded to anyone who didn't understand. He shifts, not sure how to feel about the exchange of information. The chance Elias would be more willing to answer some questions is enough for him to answer truthfully. "It feels... the emotions are there, all of them, at the moment of recalling the statement and the event that inspired the statement itself. It's not as simple though, it's more- like being an empty page slowly filled."

He scoffs at himself, though the effort is halfhearted. "Too metaphorical, but still. The page is filled, and at the time it feels _right_ , but the pen is still scratching words into your surface, and now you're heavy with the ink. You're more than before but it's... tiring." He regards Elias a moment. "I'm sure you have some idea."

 

"Not from experience," Elias admits. He's recorded a couple of statements, of course, mostly for Jon, but he isn't an Archivist and that _becoming_ , that filling empathy that both Jon and Gertrude have described to him, it isn't in his skill-set. When he records it's not far from just reading aloud.

He likes that Jon answered, though.

Now that Jon is all taken care of, Elias doesn't have much to do but fixate on him, but far be it for him to monologue out an answer to all the pressing questions he knows are caught behind Jon's teeth, or in that frustration-clenched jaw. Instead he presses his own agenda forward. "Do you like it?"

 

Jon has more questions, obviously he does, but of course Elias pushes forward with questions Jon never thought to even have an answer to. It throws him off and he sets his jaw, the question novel enough to keep his attention from his own questions momentarily.

He wants to say no, but finds it hard to. The uncomfortable look on his face deepens. "It's- I don't know. I think I do and I don't like _that_." He admits, taking a shuddering breath and turning his gaze hard to Elias. "I don't want to lose myself to it, to this... but the hooks are already in deep, aren't they? And an Archivist isn't _right_ if they aren't taking statements."

He exhales, and when he speaks again the compulsion is there, pointedly so, despite what Elias told him before. Maybe even curious if it was still the same at full strength. "Do you ever regret losing yourself to this? Or are you too far gone?"

 

Elias closes his eyes briefly, head tipping back a little further, throat a long line. The corner of his mouth ticks up, relaxed and pleased. He wouldn't call the Eye his god in anything but shorthand, but the direct touch of It still feels divine.

"I never lost myself," he admits lazily. If he answers truthfully whenever Jon compels him, will he keep doing it? That might be a worthwhile trade on its own. "I already told you that I chose this. Of my own free will. Every step of the way. That's the only way you get to keep any part of yourself, Jon.

"That's the thing about hooks," he adds, opening his eyes properly now, taking in Jon's battered form. He straightens, and then pokes Jonathan in the side, over the bandages. Maybe not hard enough to undo all his hard work, but definitely trying to earn a flinch to drive his point home. "If you struggle, they tear you apart."

(And doesn't that sound a lot like Jude's warning: consume for your god or be consumed by it.)

 

Somehow that answer is both more terrifying and more of a relief than he expected. He's beginning to realize that isn't unusual for Elias, always somehow about to be two conflicting things at the same time. He wonders if part of being the Archivist is somehow knowing Elias was telling the truth, because he doesn't question the validity of the statement, only the meanings behind it.

He makes a soft noise despite himself at the poke, shifting away and covering the area with his hand in agitation. He hadn't even thought to put his bloody shirt back on, and he grabs it, draping it over his shoulders more like a blanket than its actual purpose. The gaze he fixes on Elias is more Archivist than he realizes.

"But you did lose something. Was it worth it? Surely the person you were before... before this must regret the losses." He's still full compulsion now without even thinking about it. Elias was always so damned tight-lipped, even if this information did little more than let him understand Elias better it was still _something_. 

The rest though- the reminder of Jude's warning rings in his head. His hackles rise. "Are you going to tell me putting myself on the line for what the Beholding wants is _struggling_?"

 

"As much as I'm _enjoying_ this little conversation," Elias murmurs, the inflection subtle, "Hold — all of those thoughts. I think we can do better than your bloodstained shirt." He stands, plucks it from Jon's shoulders again, bundles it up with the equally bloody towel, and takes it off to — honestly, who knows. Some kind of laundry or container for laundry service, presumably, but he could also own an incinerator or something. Odds are even on Jon seeing that shirt again.

When he does return, though, it's with the least formal tailored shirt he owns, bar maybe a band t-shirt he isn't ever going to admit to: it's still a button up, expensive-soft cream linen and sort of drapey, more cruise-liner chic than officewear. Cut, also, for Elias' broad shoulders, so probably fine for Jon. 

He drapes it over the back of one of the sofas in obvious invitation, and goes to fix himself a drink a little stronger than water before taking his own seat. "You can take the spare bedroom," he says over a shoulder, as if Jon staying is a given, "Borrow whatever you need — unless it's from the display shelves, obviously." A loose gesture to the cool wood of the shelves in question: books upon books, a dead flower in a glass clock case, a venetian mask, an old salt-eaten ship's bell, a jade figurine of an indistinct animal. It wouldn't be a fairy tale if something wasn't forbidden, after all. "But otherwise, make yourself at home."

 

Jon glowers in a way he refuses to think of as petulant as Elias dodges his questions with ease- again. He does sigh when Elias is out of sight, finally taking a drink of his water before muttering, "I'm never seeing that shirt again, am I?" Unsurprisingly (and likely thankfully) no one answers, and he tries not to feel awkward and exposed sitting shirtless in Elias Bouchard's living room. He fails, which is also unsurprising.

When Elias returns he hesitantly get up, trying to suppress any grimace at the action out of stubborn pride more than anything else. As much as he wants to not blindly follow Elias' suggestions he also very much wants a damn shirt, and the latter wins out easily. "It's hard to imagine you in anything but your work suit," he comments dryly as he looks the shirt over before pulling it on. It feels as pricey as it looks, and Jon wonders what Elias would say if he managed to bleed through his bandages in the night and stain this shirt as well. 

Probably better not to bleed passive aggressively on any more of Elias' things. He was slowly running out of blood, after all.

Jon's lips thin at the clear implication his actual choice in staying or not hardly mattered since Elias had settled it. If he wasn't so damned tired and sore he'd consider testing the waters, see if he could head home to his flat. Truthfully he didn't want to be alone after everything, and going back to Georgie was becoming less and less of an option.

He swallows his pride and irritation, instead going to examine the strange display Elias warned him against. "If I ask what these even are I assume you'll just dodge my question again, like you just did." Yeah, definitely petulant irritated there. He rubs his eyes, exhaustion sinking in deeper.

 

Elias makes a good show of relaxing into his chair, but he's gone tense as he watches his idiot Archivist approach exactly what Elias has warned him off twice now. The urge to get up and guide him gently away from his own stubborn stupidity before he hurts himself further is overwhelming, but he has a lot, a lot of practice in staying hands-off with Jon and just letting him make his own terrible mistakes. So he stays seated, if alert.

"Come and sit down, and drink your water," he suggests like a bribe, "And I'll answer your questions." Some of them, at least. It wasn't so much a dodge as a postponement, though he does find the space between asking and answering to be more freeing, allowing him to better dictate what he gives away and what he keeps close to his chest.

(For instance: he won't make this explicit unless Jon does try and call the lift, but he's not actually letting the Archivist leave — not tonight, perhaps not until Monday morning, perhaps not even then. In the service of Jon's continuing good health, of course.)

 

Well that's a bribe that is extremely effective, and Jon immediately glances over and away from the array of probably somewhat deadly artifacts to regard Elias. "Somehow I doubt you'll be that generous," he gripes but he does walk back over without further comment.

He takes his seat, placing the ice pack to the side for now as he settled. "Will you ever tell me what you really are?" That was a simple enough question, right? Maybe he needed to figure out how to ask vague enough questions when it came to Elias.

 

Elias actually relaxes, then, crosses a leg ankle-to-knee and leans an elbow on the armrest as he considers Jon and swirls amber liquid slowly in his glass. "I really prefer to let you figure things out on your own," he says. "Thus all the _dodging_ , as you put it."

That's not an answer, more dodging, so he holds up a finger to forestall any complaints and continues.

"I believe the question you're so persistently trying to ask has little to do with me at all. _What are you_ is just _what am I becoming_ , given the power that shaped me is now shaping you in turn. But I'm afraid that isn't something I can answer for you, Archivist." He smiles slightly, composed. "I suppose I could fill up your pages with a litany of my life story, but I won't. Beholding doesn't care to know the same tale twice."

 

"That's what you keep saying," Jon answers in a surly sort of tone, though there's an edge of resignation that makes him sigh. "Did you let Gertrude 'figure it out on her own?' Or is this some new tactic since..." He hesitates. Speaking of Gertrude to her murderer was more than a little strange. "Since Gertrude didn't work out," he settles for.

Of course Elias would _psychoanalyze_ him, something that makes him sneer despite how close to on point it was. "I'm not- fine, I won't say I didn't want a point of reference. That is not the only reason." He stops, because admitting something like curiosity over Elias isn't something he's willing to do.

So he sits back, lips thinning. "What should I be asking then? If you're so sure these aren't worth our time."

 

Elias' lips twitch when Jon frames it as _not working out,_ finding the euphemism privately amusing. "You think I trained Gertrude? Just how old do you think I _am_ , Jon?" But he's teasing.

He takes a sip of his drink. "I don't plan to rob you of the joy of finally finding the right questions to ask," he says. "Finish your water, you lost a lot of blood."

 

"I'm guessing 'older than most people would assume.'" Jon answers dryly, though the idea that Gertrude could have possibly been around before Elias was interesting. He had conflicting information on the subject. 

He sighs, equal parts irritation and continued exhaustion. "Talking with you is a special kind of hell, I hope you know," he mutters but does pick up his glass and take a drink. He finishes half the glass before putting it to the side, resting his arms on the counter so he could slouch against it more comfortably. "Michael always goes on about his endless corridors- spirals. That's rather what talking to you is like. Questions then no answers, questions then vague answers that breed more questions, over and over again."

 

Elias' lip curls at that comparison, his playful demeanor vanishing in favour of a deeply judgemental look. "What an insulting comparison." Never say he's like the Spiral again, thanks. "Smirkian mazes have no function but to disorient. I have a near singular function: to give my Archivist a framework in which to do his job. Given the amount you've witnessed over the past two years, I'd say I'm quite good at it. But nothing I have to say about myself is worth the tape." 

The idea of answering questions just because Jon, as his own person, might want to know, isn't really a concept he's properly grasped.

"Not that you should stop trying to force me to answer," he says, the clouds of annoyance clearing.

 

Jon glances up at the tone shift, not necessarily surprised given Elias' prior reaction to Spiral related matters. It was still a little chilling when Elias stopped being neutrally pleasant, as mocking as that pleasantry often felt. He tries not to let any intimidation show on his face.

"It's not about the tape or statements, I'm curious," he finally admits, back straightening somewhat as he sat up. "Maybe the Beholding knows it but _I_ don't. And since you routinely tell me, like just now, that I shouldn't stop trying, well..."

He might as well get something besides injuries tonight, even if that something is simply answers to personal curiosities.

 

"You're curious about me. Should I be flattered?" Elias asks, but flirting with Jon in the hopes that he'll be too awkward to press is really just another way of dodging the question. Elias taps a finger lightly on the glass, considering. It's rare for him to talk about himself much, and he makes a point of ensuring what people do know is either unsubstantiated or contradicted. There are even several dates of birth belonging to Elias Bouchard in the public record.

"I don't think you really understand what an intimate thing you're asking," he adds, slightly more seriously than that first comment. " _Just between us_ isn't a luxury I'm typically afforded."

 

Shockingly Jon's curiosity beats his awkwardness, and though he certainly looks out of his depth for a moment he continues insistently. "It's hardly strange, given everything you've already pulled. I did look into you, during my... more paranoid stretch." That was a simple way of putting it. "I found some interesting things, and many that were contradictory of each other."

He pauses, then can't help it, "One was about you being a bit of a stoner, in University." 

Elias' tone makes him take the comment a little more seriously than he usually would, or at least curb his awkwardness a moment. "Are you typically afforded the luxury of letting people know where you live? Or the knowledge that you killed their predecessor?"

 

"I suppose not," Elias admits. It still feels different. The murders, the luxury, they're facts but Jon doesn't have any context for them, can't understand for certain what they mean about Elias. But perhaps part of helping Jon adjust to his new role is going to involve sharing some part of himself that he's been locking away for twenty-odd years.

"All right," he decides, draining the rest of his drink and putting it on the counter with a sharp noise. "I reserve the right to refuse answers for anything that reveals too much about — things that you should be investigating for yourself. But I'm willing to be candid while you're staying here. Especially since you've done your due diligence." He's actually sort of proud of Jon for that — and not at all embarrassed. Possibly he just doesn't have the capacity for shame. "I was a bit of a slacker in my Oxford days, I'm afraid. My life would look very different now if I hadn't been."

 

It actually takes Jon a moment to register Elias agreed to answer him. Admittedly it wasn't information that would likely help him with pressing matters, such as Nikola Orsinov and her threats, but it was still satisfying in some way. He leans forward, pain momentarily forgotten. Being a nosy fucker (which turned out to be exactly what some old god wanted) was a hell of a drug.

"... so it's true?" He tries not to sound amused, he really does. He fails and clears his throat. "I found it in an article, actually. Needless to say I was fairly surprised. Were you- was this before you knew of the domains and such?"

 

"Yes," says Elias, "At least, in any formal sense. Like you, I encountered the paranormal at a young age — and like you, that experience engendered a certain fascination. But it also haunted me. Recreational drug use helped me cope, I suppose, but it didn't exactly help me achieve excellence.

"When I only graduated with a third, I knew that any aspirations towards political power I'd held were made impossible. However the Magnus Institute always has a place for those who have nothing to lose, regardless of their qualifications, and amidst my scramble to have some sort of work, I came into their employ."

And that's that. Exactly what Jon had read in the file. But it's not like taking a statement: there's no sense of essential truth to it all, no ink filling Jonathan's pages as he experiences Elias' early life for himself. Elias himself looks a little far away, concentrating on something other than Jon.

 

Jon's feelings are mixed as Elias spoke, lips drawing in a thin line. He wasn't sure he wanted to feel anything like... what, understanding? Empathy? With Elias. Still, very few people had the sort of experience they did, so he supposes it's natural. Maybe it was the strangeness of hearing a story like this without the effects statements usually had. He almost forgot the feeling in the past months.

The other feeling was less pleasant somehow though far more familiar. He swears he can feel his skin itch to start a recording proper, to say _statement of Elias Bouchard_ and try and wring out the story of this childhood event. He actually needs to swallow back compulsion when he speaks again.

"Did you make a statement about it?" It occurs to him to be upset Elias knew about his personal statement. He can't really dredge up the energy to be surprised and simply continues. "I suppose it makes sense the Beholding would be where you ended up, if your curiosity beat the way it haunted. How long were you in the dark about it all, when you began at the Institute?"

 

Always so many questions. Elias tries to decide where to start. "I started in Artifacts," he says, a touch drily, "So I learned very fast. Personnel turnover is high — most transfer out, but only most. By the time I'd worked there four years, I had seniority. In '96, I succeeded Wright as Head Archivist.

"As for my statement... it's 9920503, I believe, but I wouldn't bother trying to find it." He gives Jon a measured look. "And that's that for Elias Bouchard." 

Whether or not he's telling the truth is debatable, but it certainly tracks with most of the information Jon found on his own.

 

"I've heard Artifacts has that effect, even if Mary Keay wasn't very impressed." Sasha told him as much, and that thought stings, of course. He sits back slightly, considering the information and what it even meant. He had no doubt Elias left quite a lot out, but he decided to believe what he had told him as the truth. He wasn't even sure why, it was likely incredibly foolish to do so. It probably wasn't the worst decision he ever made, not that that was any real comfort.

He regards Elias a moment, keeping further questions to himself. For the moment, at least. "I very much doubt 'that's that,' but I suppose I should count myself lucky you gave me that much, assuming it's all true."

 

"Would I lie to you, Jon?" asks Elias cheerfully. It's possible that with what he knows about Jon, the fact that his story mirrors his Archivist's experience somewhat is a deliberate attempt to create empathy — or maybe Beholding just knows what it likes in a servant.

If there is more to it all, though, if his life has been anything other than ordinary upwards failure the providence of those with the money to study PPE at Oxford, Elias apparently isn't telling, and when it's not a statement there's not really any way to know how unreliable a narrator he's been.

Continuing this theme of deceptive normalcy: "We should probably order tea."

 

"Yes, and with delight I imagine." Jon doesn't have the highest opinion of Elias' reliability, for some reason. He reaches up to rub his eyes, pushing his glasses up his forehead as he mumbles, "I was nearly sacrificed and somehow I'm not certain if that or coming here was the strangest part of my night."

He considers agitating Elias with more questions, and tries not to think it's somewhat of a relief to have someone who doesn't get quickly agitated at him for that habit. Of course that levels out with the complete lack of answers, but sometimes you had to take the good where you could get it.

Said deceptive normalcy _is_ so bizarrely normal it throws Jon for a bit of a loop. "I... suppose. I really need to call Georgie and let her know I'm not dead as well." He sighs, pushing his glasses back in place. "Will you drop me off at my place when I leave tomorrow? I'd rather not have to wear your clothes longer than necessary or in public, thank you very much."

 

"Worried somebody might get the wrong idea?" laughs Elias, moving his empty glass to the sink and then going to consider the contents of his fridge, though the thoughtful expression on his face has nothing to do with dinner options.

"I suppose we could drop by your flat to pick up some things," he concedes. "But I did warn you that I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm certain you're safe. If you die I'll have to replace you, and it is _slim pickings_ on staff right now."

He pulls a face at the idea of any of the assistants meriting the title of Archivist. Spare him working that closely with Martin, please.

 

"Knowing my luck I'd run into someone from Research or the like and it'd be a whole _thing_." Jon sighs. "They already think I'm a paranoid maniac who probably killed a man, let's leave it at that." No adding 'fucks the boss,' thanks. 

Jon takes a moment to feel uncomfortable and slightly panicked at the idea of one of the others having to deal with this Archivist nonsense. Maybe Melanie could handle it, Tim and Martin he wasn't so sure and, frankly, he didn't wish it on any of them. 

Not that being an assistant seemed to be much safer in the long run. Right, the rest of what Elias said. "Oh... I assumed you were kicking me out tomorrow." He turns to watch Elias, frowning. "Unless you plan on following me around while I investigate." Obviously that wasn't happening, as vaguely amusing as the mental image was.

 

Speaking of the length of an assistant's life: "You have several foot soldiers to sneak around for you, Jonathan. Make use of them." 

Ah, it's the good old 'you know I don't like to have these discussions' tone, the first time Elias has donned his suited facade of sternness almost since they arrived. It is, for once, an absence of smugness. "During the work week, if you please — this is still work, you know, however pressing it may seem, and you're not actually expected to do it on a Saturday." 

He actually turns to give Jon a reprimanding look. "Remind me to organize a time to revisit your job description," he murmurs.

 

Jon's clearly not happy with that comment, face twisting in displeasure. "I have," he answers stubbornly, though they both know he's been keeping them on the more tame matters rather than throwing them into something likely to hurt them.

It's a little surreal to get the 'overwork' lecture, given the state of things. He gives Elias a disbelieving look of his own. It's almost nostalgic, like the old days when he thought Elias was simply a bureaucrat with a largely 'hands off' policy on most internal matters.

"However _pressing_? Where do I even begin? You know well enough I don't have the luxury of pretending this is a normal job for a moment. If I don't find this damned skin for Nikola Orsinov, or whatever it is I'll have to do to make sure this situation doesn't escalate, then-" he stops, panic beginning to seize. "Lord, she- _it_ will go after Georgie, won't it? They know where I was staying."

 

Jonathan and his endless fucking concern for other people. "The Stranger doesn't understand human relationships well enough to use one to manipulate you," he says tiredly, like Jon is just being silly, working himself into a state over nothing. "They're as likely to threaten the shopgirl when you go to pick up milk—"

Except he seems to realize midway through that sentence: "Which would... still motivate you, wouldn't it." As though concern for others is a disappointing trait to have. 

"At any rate. Georgina has her own supernatural problems, I'm sure, but stay away from her and Orsinov won't be one of them."

 

Jon stares at him hard a moment, as if trying to dissect what he said for some proof of it being a lie. It matched with what he knows of the Stranger, he could say that much, and his panic begins to recede despite himself.

"Yes, Elias, I still find enough worth in human life to find the idea of people dying pointlessly upsetting," he snaps, more surly than anything. "I know, I know damnit. I'll avoid Georgie, it's better this way, etc."

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I can't believe my boss finds giving up humanity a perfectly acceptable sacrifice of the job but not working on _weekends_."

 

"One has to draw a line somewhere," Elias says primly, but he might be playing it up just a touch.

Still, he does understand that there is something of a race against the clock, here, that Jon is feeling a pressure that he himself put into place. "One weekend won't be the end of the world," he tells Jon, meaning it quite literally. Closes his refrigerator door, giving up on finding anything worth feeding a guest in there. "But if you want to continue your investigations without the risk of _fieldwork_ , I may be able to provide some guidance there."

Just spend the weekend researching, Jon, it'll fly by.

"What do you eat?" Elias asks, which is a little bit Anatomy Student, so he quickly amends: "I mean, what do you normally get if you order in?" Because in more concerning normalcy they're going to get take-out.

 

Jon very nearly rolls his eyes at that prim response. Elias intimidates him just a touch too much to actually do as much so shortly after snapping at him.

Instead he considers what Elias said, and finds in it something that may actually be worth a weekend of researching. "You probably knew Gertrude best out of everyone- everyone _living_ , that is." Since, you know, he murdered Leitner. Casual reminder. "I don't suppose it'd be too much to pick your brains, as it were, over where she might hide something."

Not that actually having the skin would help. He certainly couldn't just hand it over.

His brow quirks at that Anatomy Student response, and more so at the fact Elias wasn't just choosing for him. He briefly, and internally, sighs over the fact he had gotten so used to Elias doing things like that he didn't bother protesting much anymore. "Oh, ah... there's a place with good curry I usually call in to. Somehow I imagine it might be a little pedestrian for your tastes." That's a little dry. He's seen Elias' house now, after all.

 

"I'm sure it's fine," Elias says dismissively, and it's not clear if it's because he isn't as much of a snob as all this luxury would indicate or if it's, you know _I do not drink viiine_. "You can order, then. Cash, if you will."

So now Jon's in charge of the food; Elias doesn't seem to care how much he orders or if what. Instead he's going to go get another drink.

"Of course," he adds as he pours. "You can ask me whatever you wish." Once again the likelihood that he'll answer is — mutable. But he doesn't seem adverse to having his brain picked, even if that jab about people living amuses him. "You should use it as a chance to practice your control over compulsion," he adds. "People will probably stop hurting you quite so badly if you stop accidentally dragging out all their dirty laundry."

 

Jon pulls out his phone, trying to ignore how surreal it all felt. Easy when you're running on fumes. "I'll need your address," he prompts. He wasn't exactly memorizing where they were headed, given the whole bleeding out thing.

"Yes, I suppose then they'll only hurt me a little," he answers dryly, but Elias had a point. Besides bothering him about Gertrude this was probably the only way he'd get actual practice in compulsion. Elias remains the only person (or thing) that didn't get violent when he tried. "Very well then. Doesn't seem like I have many other options anyway." Or a choice, but don't tell him that.

 

There's a notepad by the fridge, presumably for shopping lists (actually more likely letters to housekeeping) and Elias picks it up, writes out his address in his neat, slanting hand — so at least now if Jon needs to call for help he'll know where to send his rescuers? But Elias is fairly confident nobody is getting into or out of his flat unless he wants them to. 

Speaking of bleeding out, Elias is just going to wordlessly refill Jon's water glass again while he's on the phone, as though if he's subtle about trying to make sure Jon's all right then neither of them have to mention it.

Then he's just going to pace through his living room with his own drink a little restlessly, turning over the question of where Gertrude Robinson would hide something.

 

His phone conversation goes on longer than he'd clearly like, since apparently Jon's voice was memorable and his long absence from ordering had been noted. He awkwardly explains it's to a different address, yes, he was staying with... a friend. Jon doesn't care for the amusement at how the person on the phone takes 'friend,' though he certainly said it hesitantly enough to be suspect. 

Thankfully it ends and he places the phone down, sighing. "I ordered some for you, I assume you're eating?" Probably should have found that out before ordering, huh. Ah well.

It takes him a moment to notice the refilled water, blinking but grabbing it and taking a drink. He feels better, not wonderful by any means but the more severe pain was more an irritating burning now coupled with exhaustion. He kept finding himself relaxing despite himself, only to be reminded this wasn't exactly a place to put his guard down.

"So, any ideas?" He asks, getting up to shuffle over to the couch, glass in hand. More comfortable there and all. "Admittedly she seemed quite adept at hiding things from you." If only he had the same skill.

 

"A few," Elias admits, pausing at one of the tall windows, though it's getting dark enough that he can't see much beyond the reflection of the room behind him. So instead of peering out he just watches the hazy-golden holograph of Jon take a seat on the couch. "The most obvious being the tunnels. But I think if it were there the NotThem would have found it already — or Leitner would have."

He turns, still with a pensive cast to his features as he thinks — and it's not at all because of the people he's murdered. This is, for once, not something he is keeping from Jon out of a desire to play mind-games. And not knowing something itches his bones the same way statements do for Jon.

"Speaking of Leitner, she did used to have a book from his library that she could use to store things, in that non-dimensional way so many powers like to cultivate — but she destroyed it back in the late seventies, I think. Perhaps she went looking for something similar — certainly towards the end she had a fascination with the way some phenomena would go unnoticed."

 

Jon sits and can't help but shudder at mention of the tunnels. That was one damn place he did not want to have to search, or have anyone else search. "I'd rather avoid the tunnels unless absolutely necessary anyway. I'm not convinced the Not Them is truly dead."

He takes a drink, pushing the tunnels and that creature from his mind as best he could manage. It was easy when he had Elias to watch, to try and dissect his seemingly perfect masks for clues. The bit about a Leitner being where it's hidden makes him exhale from his nose- he considers mentioning it would have been nice to have Leitner around to _ask_ such things. He chooses not to goad Elias about it.

"Leitner did have that book with him, the one that helped he move unnoticed. I also found something in my office, under a floorboard." He wonders if Elias knew about that hiding spot and left it, or if it was a blindspot, being so close. For a brief moment he wonders if he shouldn't have let that information go, but ultimately decides maybe offering what little he has that may be secret will encourage Elias to be more forthcoming.

Lord knew he needs all the help he can get at this point.

 

"Mm, _A Disappearance_ ," murmurs Elias. "I could have sworn we had that one, but maybe he stole it back. Or," and he's slightly sour about this possibility: "Perhaps Gertrude gave it to him. At any rate, it only works on the reader; I doubt it could influence an external object."

It seems like he's just thinking aloud, but he does like to show off his paranormal knowledge to Jon, enjoyed being better at knowing these things even in the early days of Jon's time as Archivist. It's a stupid vanity, perhaps a lingering holdover of insecurity from a time when he was a bit of a no-hoper, albeit a no-hoper with the privilege of money.

That's probably also why he exhibits no surprise when Jon discusses finding something in his office (although when, Jon, when will you learn that anything you've put to tape for the Eye is within his grasp.)

"I just don't think she would have hid it in the Archives," he says, crossing to slump elegantly into the seat antiparallel with Jon's. "The Stranger obviously disagrees, given its focus on both you and the Institute, but she wanted to pull the whole place down about her ears by '08. Leave something valuable beneath it? Perhaps — those tunnels have many entrances beyond the trapdoor in her — your — office. But within it? No."

 

This was a bit of a strange position to be in, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure whose side he should be on here. Leitner was a fool who caused incredible amounts of tragedy in his foolishness, so who was to say his plan with Gertrude wouldn't do the same? The idea of destroying the Archives was... well, it makes him shudder and tighten his grip around the glass. Of course he didn't understand why Gertrude was doing so, but it was clear such an action would have a body count.

Like Elias' actions already. Two bodies for him, that Jon knew of, probably more if the way he spoke was any indication. Elias also clearly had no qualms manipulating and hurting anyone to suit his needs, which were... the Eye, as far as Jon could tell. Elias did save him, even if he also threw him into situations that could have killed him easily. 

He sighs, rubbing his temple and deciding the question of who he should... what, root for? Trust? That wasn't a question he should be contemplating now, and he was probably silent with his thoughts for too long. He clears his throat. "So not that one. Leitner mentioned they kept some of the tomes, so I suppose your theory is as good as any. It's hard to imagine any are as mundane as simple storage."

Jon can't say Elias' point isn't a good one. He certainly wouldn't hide something he didn't want Elias to have right under his nose, let alone in a place his enemies knew where to find and could attack if the Hive was any indication. "Why didn't she destroy it? I can't tell if it's necessary for the Unknowing, they were certainly working towards that even without it, but surely if she wanted to hamper them she would put it to fire and be done with it. Maybe she wanted it as some sort of bargaining chip?" He guesses blindly then shakes his head. "Regardless, I suppose I'll check her flat again, it couldn't hurt. I went before but I wasn't looking for secret compartments. I doubt she'd put it there but maybe there's some sort of clue."

 

"Maybe she thought she could use it for her own purposes," Elias suggests, though once again, he doesn't really know. His understanding of the Stranger's goals is extensive; his understanding of Gertrude's was limited by the fact that she'd stopped trusting him. "Perhaps she wanted it to remember Mary by — they were rivals, of a sort. Maybe she simply felt the need to honour whoever died to make it. She was a bit like you in that way." Honorable. Valuing life for the sake of life. "Though less so by this century."

Elias puts an elbow on the armrest and his chin on his hand, head tilted as he watches Jon with pale eyes, cool gaze. "Anyway, if I truly knew where it was, I wouldn't tell you, but I don't, so I don't see the harm in helping — but it's my turn to ask a question, I think. What are you going to do with it if you find it? You don't have the best track record with using artifacts of power, Jon."

 

"Yes, I noticed she and Mary had a strange rapport. Too bad she's... probably dead?" Jon hesitates because yes, lots of conflicting information there. "She'd be a good one to ask, assuming she was alive. Do you know of anyone else Gertrude had connections to? Leitner said-" That she was lonely, that her assistants did not make it. Jon stops, unwilling to say as much to Elias and continues hastily, "He implied she didn't keep company with anyone but him."

That question makes him sink back into his seat, scowling down at his water. "Trust me, I've been asking myself the same thing. I suppose, at the moment, I want to find and see what I can learn of it. If it is necessary for their ritual I'll destroy it and... and try not to be killed in a gruesome way. It's never that easy though, is it?"

He glances to Elias, irritated that anything he asked about the skin would be brushed aside. "It is a little hard to interact with any of these artifacts with no information on them, thank you very much."

 

"You're welcome," Elias says immediately, baiting. "You know, even children learn to stop teaching for the flames the first time their mother lets them get burnt." A glance at Jon's hand, the scars from the Lightless Flame still new. He didn't mean it literally, but in Jon's case it almost is.

"If you were meant to understand how to use the artifacts, Jon, you'd work in Artifacts. As it is, I wouldn't destroy anything unless you're certain it's not the single thread keeping you and yours from further harm." Because remember what happened when he took an axe to a table, Elias' tone seems to say. It is possible, though, given his collection both here and at the Institute, that he just wants the page for himself.

"But let's not argue," he adds, dialing his tone back towards friendly instead of scolding. "Keep your focus on what I _am_ able to share with you, please. I'm already interfering with you more than I should."

 

Well, surprising no one Jon is offended by that comment, shifting his scarred hand away in irritation and wincing as he stretched his wound. A genius for our times. "Most mothers don't throw their children in situations where getting burnt is somehow the best option," he answers testily.

"I know, but I can hardly hand it over, can I? That rather goes against what I'm supposed to be doing," he sighs. "And what would you suggest I do with it? Assuming you'll even answer that."

He hates to admit Elias has a point, sniping at him wasn't going to get him anywhere but a headache and losing a mind game he barely understood. "Why are you? Interfering more than you should, I mean. You've certainly gotten more involved as of late."

 

"You could give it to me," Elias suggests reasonably. "Not for the display case — those are mostly to intimidate guests who know what they are. But I have other, more secure storage."

But he doesn't want Jon asking about what that might be or what else Elias has, who his guests are or what he'd do with the skin (nothing, he's not a doer, if he knew where it was he'd already have it locked up tight.) He can imagine all the questions bubbling to life in Jon's nosy little brain, regards him with mild fondness, though there's some exasperation to it.

"No follow up questions, please, Archivist. And I think you can ask the other one again, properly this time." Properly being, you know, compulsion. It doesn't matter either way, Elias just wants him to practice. And enjoys the sensation. And is toying with him, a little. But Jon knows all of that already.

 

One of these days, Jon thinks, he's going to learn not to get so annoyed at Elias' vague answers and dismissals. He's going to learn to not scowl like he's doing now. It would likely be a long time coming, but still.

He places his water on an end table, resisting the urge to go for those follow up questions anyway- resisting the urge to petulantly not do as Elias asked. It's too tempting though, as much as his change and the powers that came with it alarmed him it was... well, who wouldn't be curious? And he really did have very little chance to test them out in any real way.

So he threads his words with as much compulsion as he can manage, something he's found seems linked to his curiosity more than anything else. " _Fine_ , then why are you interfering lately?"

 

"Oh, very good," Elias drawls approvingly, voice dropped low, a little bit distracted — he does intend to answer, but that was a lot, far more than he expected of his request. The fact that Jon keeps giving him what he wants despite knowing exactly what it's doing to Elias is also excellent, though he knows better than to point that out and risk Jon stopping.

The reason is more complicated than Elias is really comfortable sharing, so he keeps his tone flippant. "It's you, mostly. I've grown a bit fond of you, I suppose — you are a _lot_ like Gertrude in her early years, though I suppose that's to be expected. But you're also, I don't know. Compelling, if you'll pardon the pun. In a blundering sort of way." That's such a backhanded compliment. Probably he doesn't know how else to give them outside a performance review.

"In addition, I think you're really starting to get the hang of everything — if things could go on as they have been for another five odd years I expect you'd do well enough on your own. But unfortunately we live, as they say, in interesting times. I don't really have a choice about throwing you in the deep end, but I can least ensure you don't drown."

Drowning in this case being a metaphor for getting cut up by cultist rituals. Elias likes metaphor. He also likes throwing a bunch of distracting information at Jon so that any individual genuine thing won't hold his attention long.

 

Jon wishes he could say Elias' reaction to his compelling was disturbing and not the least bit interesting. Interesting in a purely logical way, _obviously_ , given so few people reacted well and Elias- well. He certainly enjoyed it.

He very aggressively pushes that thought aside, thank you, not that Elias' answer doesn't leave him floundering a bit. It takes him a moment to formulate an answer, and when he does he can't exactly hide the surprise in his tone. "Well that... I'm not sure if that was a compliment or an insult."

At the very least he believed it, he didn't think Elias was lying. Maybe omitting the truth, and yes, he was better off taking everything Elias said with more than just a grain of salt but there you had it. "To be perfectly honest I didn't think you were capable of anything remotely like fondness," he admits, which would be the sort of thing most people got endlessly pissed at him for saying so bluntly but... well, this wasn't a 'most people' circumstance, was it?

 

"Not for ordinary people," Elias agrees, apparently unperturbed by the accusation. Jon's seen below the mask, he knows what Elias is (maybe not enough to explain it, to have a word for it, but enough that Elias isn't bothering to hide his detachment from humanity despite that nice little backstory monologue earlier.)

So it really isn't a 'most people' circumstance, in either direction. He's still watching Jon, unblinking.

 

There's something unsettling about how easily Elias agrees to that, like the implication he was incapable of such a purely human feeling was both fair and right. There's a part of Jon that wonders if he'll be the same one day, far into the future, when people mentioning Sasha or threatening bystanders really will mean nothing more than background noise.

He is incredibly, deeply glad the thought still makes his stomach twist. His next words have compulsion in them as well, clearly not exactly intended but strong nonetheless. "And Gertrude? Were you fond of her as well?"

 

Elias shivers. "Again," he says with a quiet authority. "This time without compulsion." Because Jon needs to practice that, as well. Precision is a two way street, here.

He will answer, though, once he's put Jon through his paces. "I suppose I was fond of Gertrude," he says. "At first, when I didn't understand what was happening to me, she was a source of great frustration. And after that we never got along as well as we had." His tenses are getting all confusing, though he seems composed about it. "You're different, though. I certainly never had Gertrude here, for one thing."

 

Jon blinks, realizes the compulsion and nearly apologizes before stopping himself. Despite that stubborn refusal he does as Elias asks, keeping the question completely compulsion free. The answer is more satisfying than Elias usually gives, and his lips quirk humourlessly. "Frustrating while getting your bearings- doesn't that sound familiar," he says dryly. He considers the rest and hates the part of him that is vaguely pleased at it. He very much doubted such a sentiment meant much in the long run, assuming Elias was telling the truth.

"From what I hear Gertrude wouldn't need rescuing." Except from Elias, it seems. "Why did you become Head of the Institute? Was it some sort of coup or was it simply time to replace the former?"

 

"That's difficult to explain," Elias says, though he can't fault Jon asking complex questions that he thinks are simple because he doesn't have all the information. It's just, Elias is still taking baby steps, when it comes to trust, even if he knows that there has to be some semblance of it between them. 

Gertrude was never truly his Archivist, not the way that Jon is, and that, he thinks, is where the real difference in his opinion of them lies.

"I took it," Elias tells him. "I discovered what power lay at the heart of the Institute, and it made me an offer, and I was ambitious enough to accept, just as Wright did before me, just as Nichols before him, right back to Jonah Magnus."

A reflective pause before he continues. "I think perhaps the capacity to accept is what defines our suitability, though sometimes I feel as though my whole youth had been an arrow flying directly to pierce that moment. Who's to say?" He shrugs loosely. "One day I'll pass everything I am on to someone new, and they'll take up the workload, and my body will be buried and mourned and so on." His eyes are zealot-bright, and he's sat forward in his chair, now. This is the first time he's ever explained this to anyone, but it feels right, at that moment, Jon's compulsion still somehow a lingering vibration in the air between them, the passing on of knowledge between Beholding's acolytes itself a sacred act. "It won't matter. Everything the Eye collects, its Avatar is. To be remembered forever is a kind of immortality."

 

Jon feels himself almost slipping into the space he's in when he takes statements, that place that is something like a daze but far too sharp to be anything like it. This place is different, it doesn't drain him or scratch into him in the way he's used to. It takes him several nearly sluggish moments to realize perhaps it was what their 'master' was, the being or force beyond comprehension, watching them more plainly than it would. Watching like it did when Jon took statements, like it was pouring into whatever space it could find. Smothering, but

(but the word that always comes to mind is closer to _home_ , the raw, cold idea of it, and that should scare him more than anything before. More than anything he's ever experienced or imagined.)

He blinks as if that will break the haze, focusing instead on Elias. "Sounds like Achilles, though he died much younger for that immortality," he answers after a long beat. It probably says a lot that he doesn't make a snide comment about Elias being mourned at all, instead keeps watching him like there was something there he could read if he just tries hard enough. "You said... before, you said my choices led me here. That even if I didn't deliberately choose such a role the path I chose to follow might as well have been. You were speaking from experience, weren't you? That's how it found us."

 

"Find isn't the right word either. It knows, and it waits." No wonder Beholding and the Web seem so close; aren't those also the characteristics of a spider? "It's trite to speak of destiny because it implies a lack of free will that simply isn't ... _necessary_. We both made our choices. But yes, Jon, I imagine when you were a child, refusing to read the same book twice, demanding new input, new knowledge..." does he even need to finish that sentence, to compare the way some statements merit the tape recorder while others don't? 

That's also the second time he's referenced a private statement, so apparently he really isn't pretending to be less creepy anymore.

"We can trace the dominoes back: you wouldn't be so deep in this if Martin hadn't given you a murder mystery to solve. I wouldn't have killed Gertrude if I wasn't certain in the reassurance that there was a suitable replacement. You wouldn't have settled for a low-level research position with us were it not for that Leitner. Which would never have been found by a child had it remained safely in his library. You see? Back and back it goes."

 

"So it does," Jon mumbles, and wonders which thread of this he should grasp at. The fact Elias knew of his private statement, this strange pseudo destiny, the Beholding itself. 

It answer was obvious, to him at least. "Why do you follow it so gladly, Elias? What about the Eye and it's agenda is worth all this?" He looks back over, feeling a little uneasy for questioning a thing that was always watching, even if he had the feeling it enjoyed all forms of question and answer.

 

Elias quirks a brow. "What, the feeling of one-ness with a god isn't enough for you?"

But that's a zealot's answer, and only partially accurate, and he knows Jon is still fighting it all too hard to find the peace in it.

"The thing is, right," he says, something in his tone a little more _pub philosophy discussion_ than _schooling my apprentice_ , because he thinks Jon might appreciate the humanity of him being a little more Elias at this point. "There is no turning back. I cannot unknow what I know — or I could, I suppose, but I get the impression the Stranger's methods aren't kind. 

"And I know a lot." He gives a breath of a chuckle at that understatement. "And I like knowing a lot — I can remember two hundred years of lived history, for starters. I like the power of running the Institute, of forcing people like the Lukases and the Fairchild's of the world to respect me. I like being able to take people who have nothing and give them something, to let them have a glimpse behind the terrible curtains of the world and find out who they are because of it. And I like—"

He cuts off abruptly, squints at Jon suddenly, his jaw gone tense as though he's genuinely exerting effort of will.

"I think," he says, getting up from the sofa, "That we're done with questions for today, Archivist. Statement ends."

 

Elias isn't wrong, Jon does appreciate the strange humanity of the words, even if he doesn't realize it consciously. He knows, of course, that there's a part of him struggling to find an ultimate reason to either reject or accept the Eye and all it held. Elias found that reason, accepted, while Gertrude seemed willing to destroy herself in rejecting it. 

Elias' words don't bring him any closer to that answer, but they _are_ answers, and because of that they're satisfying.

Well, up until Elias cuts himself off. Jon blinks, clearly surprised and a little put out that Elias stopped. "But-" He starts, and there's so clearly a question ready on his tongue, one he manages to swallow in a surprising display of self control. His lips thin and he can't stop himself from giving off the air of a child denied something right within their grasp, pulled away as their fingertips grazed it. 

"You're never exactly what I expect," he says instead of the countless questions he could. "I think the most frightening thing about you is that you truly believe you're right. Perhaps you are, and that will be comforting one day, but..." He lets the thought die. There's probably a convenient buzz of their food getting there.

 

Elias is still shaken with his own surprise, which obviously isn't something he experiences much, and he finds it unpleasant. The fact that he'd slipped into that statement-giving fog to the point where he just gave a piece of himself over easily and freely, he doesn't like that. Jon now knows more about Elias than any living person, and why? Because Elias _liked_ him? Ridiculous. He had been so, so certain that even Jon's best efforts at compulsion couldn't affect him, but now he thinks better of it.

So he's grateful, for the distraction of the arrival of their food, goes to buzz the delivery driver in and pay. Returns with — well, it's too much even for two people, really, but he supposes since he doesn't have much else in the house that's all right. The kitchen is still a little bit of a crime scene, so he puts the bag of containers on his living room coffee table for Jon to unpack, and fetches plates and cutlery. He isn't so posh that he can't eschew formal dining.

 

Jon sighs to himself as Elias goes to get the food, rubbing his face and trying to smother the now familiar annoyance of having answers ripped away, cut off. He has so many more questions, the most pressing at the moment being why Elias stopped. The air of the room when Elias returns stops him from testing his boss' patience with another question, a somewhat rare moment of self preservation trumping curiosity.

The smell of the curry is so familiar it jars him in this setting. Usually that smell meant a typical Friday night at home. "I may have ordered too much," he breaks the silence with, mostly just to break it before it got too oppressive. "I usually get large portions so I have leftovers for the weekend. I suppose I forgot."

He unpacks the bag, careful not to make a mess out of personal preference rather than trying to spare Elias' things. At least he would only stain said things with blood, thanks.

 

Appreciated, certainly. By the housekeeper if nobody else.

"It's fine," says Elias, a little curt, too distracted to be affable. He does answer the question of if he's eating, if he eats, by serving himself some food, taking his seat again and balancing the plate on one knee. 

His annoyance relents a little bit as they eat, the food an excellent reason to avoid conversation. Jon, he knows, cannot help what he is. 

"It's not evil, you know," he says mildly, pushing the last of the sauce-soaked rice around his plate. "The Eye. Unless you consider impartiality to evil to be in and of itself evil. I'm not speaking for myself, here, of course — _people_ have the capacity to be monstrous, even when they haven't been touched by something greater than themselves." He beat someone to death, he knows what he is. "But you're not selling your soul, here, Jon."

 

Jon perks up at being given more answers, plate more than half done at that point as well. The only reason he hadn't inhaled it was his sore jaw, turns out running around all day Archivisting then getting kidnapped built up an appetite. 

"It's... difficult, I suppose, to judge a force so entirely inhuman with human morality," he admits, looking back to his plate. "Perhaps the question is if following it makes _us_ evil. The Lightless Flame certainly are their own special brand of moustache twirling depravity. Even Crew was chilling in his own, passive way."

 

"Back to cause and effect again," shrugs Elias. "My job is, occasionally, to line up all those dominoes rather than simply documenting their fall, but I don't expect my employees to do so. The Institute is at its heart a place of academic research. It's not as though we _create_ the artifacts we study, and when we take statements they're documenting situations that have already occurred. Take an Ethics in Journalism course online if you're worried that's going to compromise your morality."

He glances at Jon's hand again. "As for people like Jude Perry, she was a monster before the Flame took her. I'd still argue that fire alone is not an evil force. Neither is death, or darkness, or decay."

 

"But it's not always so simple, is it? I've read enough statements where the subject begs us for help we'd never give, even if we were capable of doing so. Journalists wouldn't leave someone bleeding out to remain observer alone," Jon points out, before setting his plate down and shaking his head. "I don't know if I'm capable of it, Elias. No- no I am, I wouldn't be Archivist if I wasn't, would I? But I don't want to be capable of it."

He leans back, feeling as though Elias will likely dismiss that sort of moral dilemma as he usually did. "Are there more like us? The assistants aren't... they're still fully human, or so I hope. Are there any others bound to the Eye as you or I are?"

 

"Not like you or I are," says Elias, which is an awfully cagey answer, but he truly believes he and Jon are part of some two-sides-of-the-same-coin duality, so he's not strictly lying. "Not in Britain, anyway." 

At the very least, the fact that Jon has given up on denial is deeply satisfying. They are what they are, and Jon needs to stop wasting time and energy fighting it, is his opinion. Still, he's curious about Jon's morality, even as he finds it foolish: "You always say you want to save people, but why? What inherent worth is there to you, when you're barely capable of maintaining a friendship? You don't _like_ people, Jon. I'm not even sure you like the assistants, when they're actually in the room with you."

 

Jon expected as much when it came to an answer to that, he wants to assume if there was some other big player in Beholding he would know by now. He decides to dismiss asking more about 'not in Britian,' the had the feeling it's be an exercise in futility.

Of course Elias gives him plenty to chew on besides, and he can't help sitting back like he's recoiling from the accusation. Earlier in the evening it would be easy to snap at the question, give Elias an earful and try to dismiss it. Instead he finds himself actually thinking about, actually thinking about an _honest_ answer. Was that the whole point of this, he wonders? More manipulation to make him pliant? If so why was it so damn effective?

He muffles a sigh as he rubs his face, and very hesitantly decides on a more... honest answer. "It's not- they have worth as _people_ , Elias, but that won't satisfy you, will it? Then- what's the point in reading a story when you don't care about the characters, one way or another?" 

That was a vaguely sociopathic way to look at it, and it hit a little too close to home for his liking. He pulls his hands away then says one more honest thing, softly: "I liked Sasha."

 

Of course it won't satisfy him. It hadn't even satisfied Elias in university philosophy classes, where he'd argued against the "desire-independent value" of human consciousness. He much prefers the other answer. Isn't that why the information they feed are first person statements, chock full of emotion, rather than digital recordings or dull records? It's more engaging? Individualized?

But then he mentions Sasha, and looks so quietly tired about everything that Elias has a rare moment of pity. "I'm sorry," he says, meaning it. "I never expected her to go off and get lost, and it was a senseless, disruptive waste." Not that Elias cared about Sasha particularly, but her loss had been inconvenient for the foothold it gave the NotThem. But sometimes the unfortunate consequences of remaining an observer included watching your own plans get trodden upon.

But he's more concerned about Jon right now, putting his plate aside and leaning forward, an arm on his knees. "Perhaps you should turn in early tonight. You've had a long day."

 

Jon wasn't sure what he was expecting from Elias' response, especially given he didn't have the energy for anger or indignation in the most likely outcome of Elias being flippant. But he isn't, and that's both disturbing and unpleasantly comforting. It would have been nice, he thinks, if he had the proper chance to talk to Martin and Tim about her, to have some sort of service, anything. Apparently Elias' condolence was the best he could get at the moment.

He wonders, briefly, how Sasha would react to all this and finds himself exhaling in amusement. Probably would have told Elias off- hell, she probably would have told Jon off right after.

"... yes, perhaps I should." He stands up, blinking away lightheadedness as he does. When he gets around the couch he stops and turns back to Elias.

"Goodnight," yes, that's awkward, and he certainly didn't think the evening would end this way. He nearly throws some parting question at Elias but stops himself, annoyed now at the constant need for answers and how increasingly inhuman the urge felt. He retreats quickly.

 

"Goodnight, Jon," Elias murmurs, watching him, and lets him go. He isn't much for cleaning — he has People for that — but he tides up a bit and calls his housekeeping service about coming to clean up the blood, which they will do, like fairies in the night. It isn't hard to occupy himself for the rest of the evening. Elias is very used to being alone.

The next morning, as promised, Elias drives Jon home to his flat so that he can check his mail and pack a bag and whatever else needs doing — changing out of the borrowed shirt, presumably, which is a shame because Jon looks rather fetching in it.

Does Elias know that Daisy is waiting there? Perhaps; he opts not to come up, saying that he'll take a little air and then wait in the car: "Do try not to get yourself kidnapped in your own home."

Which probably seems ironic when Daisy grabs Jon by the shoulder in the hallway. "It's about time. I was starting to think maybe you were in there but dead already. I mean, where do you even go on a Saturday morning?" A pause as she actually looks him over. "Is that Elias' shirt?"

 

Jon actually slept, something he had not expected and perhaps needed worse than he realized. This doesn't stop him from questioning Elias about whether that water was somehow drugged, seeing as he was unwilling to admit he felt a measure of safety in Elias' house that he didn't elsewhere. It made no sense, of course, to feel safe with a murderer nearby. It had to be drugs.

He gives Elias an unimpressed look at the parting comment, heading up with slower steps given the low pain at his side. It was much, much better now with sleep and painkillers but he had no interest in reopening anything.

Daisy's grab makes him yelp, extremely dignified thanks, swinging an elbow back too clumsily to be a threat before he steadied, hand at his chest. "D-Daisy! Lord above, what are you thinking? Don't just grab a man like that!" He exclaims, then-

Oh no. "What? It- no. No of course not." Why was his first instinct to lie? He exhales and tries again. "I mean yes but it's not- I was captured and Elias rescued me, for whatever reason he decided to be proactive for once. He took me to his place to be safe and... well, my shirt was ruined. So I borrowed this."

 

"To his place," Daisy echoes flatly, clearly skeptical, "To be safe." You have to admit, Jon, said out loud it does sound like a fairly flimsy story — since when does Elias rescue people. "And your shirt was ruined." 

She holds up a hand before Jon can repeat himself. "No, honestly, I _don't_ want to know. It's none of my business if you're shagging your boss." She gives him a hard stare. "So long as you don't try to protect him when the time comes."

 

"I _know_ , all right. I was as surprised as you are!" Jon insists, resisting the urge to rub his temples. "Apparently the whole thing wasn't part of his plans and- Daisy, I am _not_ shagging _Elias_!"

This was the worst thing to ever happen to him, bar none. He is not over-exaggerating at all. He realizes something then glances behind him with the nastiest look he could muster. "He _knew_ you were here, didn't he? That pompous asshole, I swear-"

He imagines Elias smirking to himself in the car and wishes he actually knew how to throw a proper punch. Maybe Daisy would teach him.

 

Maybe she would, at that. She doesn't have time for Jon's nonsense, though, drops the topic of Elias entirely (because eugh): "Look, I really don't care if you are, I needed to talk to you about this." She pulls a slightly scrunched piece of paper from her trouser pockets, holds it out. It's a flyer, for a circus. There's a calliope in the pictures. "This is more of the same bullshit, isn't it? We can't let people turn up for a show and get themselves killed. Basira said you've barely been in the office, too — what are you _doing_ , Jon?"

 

Jon's glad for the topic change, though part of him prays Daisy believes him. The absolute last thing he needs is it spreading to the others and the headache that would entail.

Her news distracts him thoroughly though, and he takes the flyer with a furrowed brow. "The Circus of the Other..." He mutters, tapping his fingers against the page. "If this is them then you aren't wrong, whoever goes to this circus will be lucky to come out of it alive and intact. It will be even worse with Nikola Orsinov at the head. Why is she making her presence known now? Is this some sort of timeframe for her demands?"

He wishes he had his recorder on him. The rest of Daisy's question snaps him out of it. "I uh- I'm working, just in the field, as it were. I mean you've seen it." He tries not to sound evasive and fails. "There's no way you can try and tip sectioned officers off that this is going to be a bloodbath, is there?"

 

"I'll try," Daisy says, not sounding happy about it. "I've got a couple of friends who aren't involved in all this that might be willing to report spotting some weird stuff, as a favour to me. Better when it comes from the outside, yeah."

She rubs a temple with the side of her hand, huffs out a sigh. "You know, that for as long as we _have_ to work together, I've got orders to have your back when you want to go out and play hero. But if your creepy boyfriend is right, then we can't just run around aimlessly. Fill your team in so they know what they're looking for to help you -- or else what good are they."

 

"If you do try to make them understand attacking the Circus in any way is not a good idea. You have an idea, I'm sure, given our meeting with Sarah Baldwin." Jon could only imagine the blood shed if there was a raid attempt. "The best we can do now is try to keep people away."

His shoulders rise. "He is _not_ my- for god's sake. I know, I gave them some basic orders. It's-" He stops, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose, willing away a headache. "I'm not losing anyone else, not after Sasha. If I send them into half the nonsense I have to investigate they won't be able to defend themselves. Hell, I barely can but at least I have some abilities thanks to all this."

Why was he explaining himself to Daisy? He shakes his head. "I'll go in soon to discuss this with them, all right?"

 

"Please," she says flatly, but she's apparently satisfied enough with all of this to let it go. So long as Jon is a little more forthcoming, enough that Basira isn't telling tales about how everyone is completely in the dark and worried about Jon, while he's .. gallivanting about, looking like a tossed in one of Bouchard's expensive shirts.

"See you round, Sims," she says, and leaves his hallway, not even waiting to see if she gets an invite in.

 

"Don't go spreading lies, Daisy!" Jon calls after her in a last ditch attempt to save himself. He sighs as she leaves, looks down at the paper for a few long moments then hurries to do what he was here for.

When he gets back to Elias' car it's with a bag and a sour expression. And his own shirt. "You _knew_ she'd be waiting for me," he accuses as he gets into the car and shuts the door.

 

Elias just smirks at him, starts the car. "Did I?" Of course he did, he would have come in, otherwise. It's the only reason for him taking his eyes off Jon for so long. "Hope you have everything you need."

He swings by the corner shop on the way home; it's run by a friendly South Asian man who chatters at Elias so familiarly that he must actually be a regular. Elias mostly picks things like bread and milk and cheese and then just buys whatever else Jon wants to have in the house so they're not living off leftover curry.

 

"What I need is for my assistants to not assume I'm sleeping with our boss," is Jon's grumbled response there. He spends most of the car ride considering the Circus when he was done sulking, only snapping out of it when Elias stopped at the shop and acted... friendly. Like he had a life outside of work, he bought groceries and had a schedule and all that.

It wasn't as strange as it could be, given what he learned last night, but Jon still finds himself studying this carefully cultivated act with interest. When asked what he wanted coffee was high on the list.

"Frankly I'm surprised you buy your own groceries," he comments out of the shop keeper's range.

 

"I'm not that out of touch," Elias grouses slightly as he puts the bags in the car. "I like talking to people," he adds, not really caring if that surprises Jon. It shouldn't, though: Elias might generally leave people to their own devices, but he still holds a lot of meetings, checks in on staff, attends events, mingles with the Institution's benefactors. That extroversion extends outside the workplace as well. 

He probably wouldn't be much troubled if the nice shopkeeper died, however.

Anyway, their next stop is back to Elias's place, which certainly manages to make him seem out of touch. He relaxes minutely once he gets Jon inside, something tense and ready that has been present all morning finally dissipating. "I presume you can occupy yourself for a little while," he tells Jon. "I have some phone calls to make."

 

The talking didn't surprise Jon, but his brow quirks regardless. "I suppose it's hard to imagine you with a life outside the Institute," he admits, and that's what it really came down to. As dramatic as Elias' little 'heart of the Institute' speech had been it was fitting in a way. He so thoroughly fills the role of head it sometimes seemed his only function.

Once back inside he glances around, realizing the blood from the night before was cleaned away. He wonders how the maids of this place handle not questioning such things, it seems a special kind of hell to him. "Hm? Oh, yes, of course." He's tempted to ask what kind of calls but decides against it, mostly because he was curious to explore the place a little more.

Yes, basically he wants to snoop. He figures if he stays out of Elias' room and doesn't touch the cursed nonsense Elias wouldn't complain too much. There isn't much else to do besides pour over the flyer Daisy gave him, and he wants to pick Elias' brain about that properly before deciding on any course of action.

 

Elias was quite pugnacious about work on Saturdays, but he also feels it doesn't count if you don't actually get paid for it, so they are actually mostly Institute-related. He puts away their groceries, goes into his study, and closes the door. The walls are thick enough that his conversation isn't audible, and so a hush falls over the elegant apartment.

First exploration typically being getting the layout of the place, the hallway off the main open plan area has Elias' "wing", as it were: bedroom, study-slash-office, both connected by an ensuite. There's the guest "wing": the room Jon's using as his own and a second bedroom, as well as the house bathroom. And at the end of the corridor some kind of housekeeping room: it's cluttered in here, laundry appliances and cleaning products, but also signs of life, like perhaps the cleaners take breaks or naps in here. 

Back in the living room, there's the open plan kitchen area, divided from the rest by the tall floating countertop a dining table framed by the display shelves, and the lounge area where they'd ended up eating last night, arranged around an unlit fireplace,, and then the large windows that look out over a narrow balcony that turns into a rather nice view. 

The facts are these: there is very little that isn't on display. The kitchen cupboards that have little glass windows show neat stacks of white plates and bowls, but open one of the cupboards below the counter and they're empty. The refrigerator has a water pitcher, and the freezer has ice cubes. Elias' shelves have carefully arranged books and oddities, but there are no drawers with old memorabilia or books that didn't make the cut. One of the baskets next to a long sofa contains a soft throw rug, and another near on the stone of the fireplace contains wood, though the grate itself is too clean to have been lit recently. There's a bar area, a wine cabinet, bottles all on display, but nothing seems like it gets much use beyond the whiskey decanter Elias poured from last night.

There are no photographs. No magnets on the fridge beyond the same handyman phone numbers everybody in London gets in the mail. Also notably no visible security cameras or alarm system. Finally, if Jon tries to call the lift, he's going to discover it won't go anywhere when he presses the buttons. Presumably Elias has some sort of key or device on him that makes it work.

This is a lot to find out in the span of just a few phone calls, isn't it! Well, that would be true, but Elias is in his study until either Jon comes to make sure he's not dead or about 4pm, whichever comes first.

 

It's strange to snoop in a place knowing full well the owner is watching your every move. Even if Elias isn't present Jon isn't an idiot, he's well aware that isn't a necessity where Elias is concerned. Maybe that was why he assumes it's somewhat all right to look around. It isn't as though Elias can't stop him.

Unsurprisingly the exploration is largely fruitless. He looks through it all, besides Elias' room and office, finding it what he expected. It seems just display, and he thinks back to his earlier comment about Elias not existing outside of the Institute. It was wrong, obviously, but there is something about the penthouse that feels more for show than anything else.

It's not terribly unlike his own flat, if he's being honest with himself. No pictures, not many knick-knacks or items of sentimental value. He tries not to think about what that says about him, about them both in this whole mess.

Jon does eventually go to Elias' study door around 1pm, hesitating only a moment before knocking. In truth he's curious, wants a chance to see inside and the cover of 'shouldn't you be eating lunch now' is a good enough one to at least earn a peek.

 

Elias opens the door, looking surprised to see Jon there for a moment, like he'd forgotten— or maybe just hadn't expected to be interrupted. Still, he's not actually on the phone at the moment. When he opens the door wider Jon can see he's got a computer set up on his desk — this room, too, is elegantly furnished but far sparser than his office at the Institute. There are no books at all, just a filing cabinet and a framed artwork: Escher's _Eye_.

"Archivist," he says, in a prompting tone.

 

Jon catches sight of the art first, and finds it... unsettling? That isn't quite right or quite wrong, so he dismisses it to glance back at Elias.

"Aren't you going to have lunch?" He asks, brow raised. He wonders briefly what Elias is even working on, and knows better than to ask. "It's past one."

 

"Right," says Elias, after a beat. "Yes." He's so used to being alone in his flat that he's not as good at pretending to be a person as he is at work. He steps out of his study and heads for the kitchen. "What are we having, then."

 

Jon's a little surprised he agrees so readily, then very nearly laughs at being the one to tell someone to stop working so they could eat. How the turn tables. He follows, brow raising.

"I'm fairly certain you know I'm not much of a cook." At all. Mostly due to disinterest and finding whatever bland nonsense he managed to scrounge up perfectly acceptable half the time. "Seeing as you have uncomfortably thorough knowledge of all your staff." Dry, very dry. Someone is feeling better after sleep, food and painkillers.

"I can make an omelet if you'd like. Otherwise there's plenty of leftovers."

 

"I'd keep that omelette in your back pocket," Elias says, defrosting slightly. "As it sounds better than anything I can manage." Maybe he should ask the housekeepers if they can cook, if he's going to need to keep feeding Jon. "You're welcome to the leftovers, however. I can make myself a sandwich." Which he will do, just cheese and butter on bread. Bland nonsense, table for two.

 

"I can assure you an omelette would be better than that," Jon informs him once he realizes what Elias is making. He does go to just get some leftovers, moving awkwardly around Elias' kitchen to do so. When he's done he heads to Elias, and of course the questions begin.

"What were you working on exactly?"

 

"There's nothing wrong with cheese sandwiches," Elias informs him, though Jon is probably right. He sits at the kitchen bench to eat, the same stool Jon bled all over yesterday, and rolls his eyes when Jon starts asking him things.

"You're a menace, Archivist, do you know that?" he says mildly, like it's a genuine question. Eats a quarter of his sandwich before he actually answers. "If you must know, I had a call with some representatives of Institute funding sources. Nothing of concern to you." Yet, anyway.

 

"There is when you could have nearly anything else," Jon answers, and refuses to think of it as the sort of banter they rarely shared before Elias showed his true colours.

He does huff at that question. "Really? I hadn't noticed people don't like to be pestered from the irritation of my peers, or my colleagues- oh, or the time Jude Perry nearly burned my hand off or Michael Crew sent me into endless falling." That's his dry response, a little less tired than last night but there. It's been quite a few weeks. "Who, the Lukases? Are most of the 'funding sources' supernatural in nature?"

 

"And yet you still do it," Elias points out. "You're doing it right now." He sounds more amused than exasperated, though.

"We have an agreement with Oxbridge and a couple other colleges that are all, as far as I'm aware, as yet on the level," he answers. "The occasional eccentric millionaire who thinks donating to paranormal research instead of the children's hospital will add to their cultivated reputation for quirkiness. One of our anonymous donors is a politician who also likes to submit incredibly made up statements every so often, please do not ask me about the motivations there.

"And then the rest are either those who support the Eye, or members of the domains we have an ongoing alliance with — the Lukas' are mostly fascinated with humanity's need for companionship, Fairchild's fondness for the Vast."

 

"Yes, well-" _you're different_ , he almost says as much but stops himself. There's something in the statement that makes him uncomfortable, so he reformats. "You can hardly complain, you're the one encouraging embracing this nonsense."

He nods, that sounds like what he expected. "I hope Fairchild doesn't take Crew's death poorly." He has the feeling it was less any fondness for Crew and more Daisy crossing some sort of line that would instigate any issues. Still, that is and was Elias' problem. He's the one who decided to put Daisy on a leash.

 

"I can and will complain," says Elias, but he's smiling faintly. After last night, he's still not wholly certain that the man isn't actually compelling him somehow, because it's so easy to answer sometimes. But on the other hand, he does enjoy the dance of giving Jon just enough information he doesn't already have, but not in any way all of it. Making him chase.

Either way, for once Jon makes a statement instead of asking a question, so Elias eats some more of his sandwich. "Miss Tonner is on Section's payroll," he says innocently. "Not affiliated with the Magnus Institute at all."

 

"So are you taking back your offer to let me work on my compulsion?" Jon asks, and he's enough of a little shit to thread some compulsion in there. In truth he is getting better, he can actually feel it, a level of control he most certainly didn't have even a week ago. He supposes, he thinks bitterly, that he's just the kind of person who didn't stop until they understood something to their satisfaction. The Eye likely knew as much. The Eye likely planned on as much.

He brushes that aside and snorts at Elias' innocent statement. "Frankly I'm surprised Section 31 hasn't been targeted by some outside force- unless they're controlled by some force of their own."

 

Elias shivers, murmurs "Christ, Jon," very quietly, but doesn't _actually_ complain, so apparently he's not retracting anything. Can't a man eat his sandwich in peace without being set upon by intimate tingling?

"The police can handle themselves," is all Elias is going to say about that. It's venturing too far into territory of things he wants Jon to learn for himself, rather than accessing his Elias-shaped search engine.

 

The shiver reminds Jon of the rather special... _effect_ compulsion had on Elias, and he at least has the good grace to look embarrassed. Maybe he should stop being unintentionally intimate with his murderer boss. He clears his throat. "Well... I forget sometimes you're a special case."

He stirs at his curry, considering with a soft scoff. "Meaning that's something I'll have to figure out for myself. Typical." Not terribly important though, less life or death than some information Elias kept from him. "Whatever they may be they let Basira leave, that's a sight better than many."

 

It's better than Beholding, for one. Elias hears that criticism, but just smiles to himself and eats his sandwich. Typical indeed. 

Elias finishes his sandwich, and then peers at Jon like he's about to put a hand to his forehead and take his temperature. "How's your side?" he asks instead. "We can change over the bandages if it's soaked them."

 

"It's better," Jon answers truthfully, and it certainly did prove Elias knew what he was doing when it came to first aid- which was vaguely suspicious, something Elias tends to be without even trying. At least in this case it was helpful. "I think they were making an effort to not have me bleed out before... well, whatever it is they were doing. Horrifying at the time, rather lucky now."

He tries to sound unaffected, and he is more than he had been but it's still... still just a bit much. He pushes his mostly finished curry away. "I can take care of changing it, you don't have to."

 

"I don't mind," Elias says, something in his tone that implies he isn't just being polite, here. His pale eyes are unreadable, though, as always. "You won't be able to get the bandage tight enough on your own."

 

Jon glances at him, getting the feeling Elias wasn't going to easily back down from this, if at all. He considers, briefly, continuing to argue it anyway, if only to see. It's a pointlessly stubborn choice, and after a beat he exhales and decides he should save pushing Elias for when he isn't under some sort of weird house arrest.

"... fine, fine," he offers, getting up from his chair. "Somewhere other than the kitchen this time, dreadfully unsanitary."

 

"My kitchen is spotless, you'll note." Elias says, but he does actually take one of the kitchen stools into the bathroom with them, pulling the first aid kid back out and dampening a cloth with warm water. 

Once Jon is shirtless again, Elias unwraps the outer bandages and then gently soaks away the gauze, the span of his fingers light and impersonal across Jon's bare skin as he holds it taut, wipes it clean. He gives little instructions: move your arm here, hold your breath, this may hurt, this will be cold. (That last as he applies antiseptic cream over the wounds.)

"They're closing up nicely," he says. "No infection. Definitely going to add a scar to your collection, though," he muses, tapping one of the pale puckers that were once worm entry wounds on Jon's bare shoulder.

 

Jon follows, sits and generally follows instructions with only a few snide comments to cover his own nerves. He's not sure if Elias' clinical approach makes things better or worse, and in the end it rather reminds him of the observation rooms for surgeries. Of students taking notes impassively as a human being was cut open. He can't say it's comforting, it's rather chilling really, but he can understand it on some level.

He makes a face, covering the worm scar Elias prodded with his scarred hand, shiny around the palm and wrist thanks to Jude Perry. It rather makes Elias' point. "I'm half convinced every damn domain wants their own." He mumbles, pulling his hand away. "I rather hope the Eye itself would be excluded from that, were it the case."

 

Elias' eyes sparkle. "No promises," he murmurs, velvety, letting his fingers brush down Jon's bicep, before he returns to the injury. Considers it for a moment and then just proceeds to do everything in reverse, finishing with the bandage back around Jon's waist. "All done," he says, goes to wash his hands at the sink while Jon dresses again.

 

Jon looks over, ' _what does that mean_ ' on the end of his tongue when Elias... what? Caresses his arm? It sounds ridiculous to put to words but that was certainly how it felt, and he shivers. He wishes he could take that back and he isn't sure why, it was just an involuntary reaction. He blames Elias, who always had a way of making Jon second guess himself over the simplest matters.

When Elias finishes he goes to put his shirt on, watching Elias clean his hands as he buttons back up. For some reason he remembers the night before, Elias tapping his bloodstained fingers against his chin, licking the blood there off casually. 

Jon swallows and stands. "So, back to work I assume?"

 

Elias dries his hands, nodding. "Sorry. Life of a salaryman. All the books are safe, you're welcome to read them. Or I have some of Gertrude's taped statements — none to give you much in the way of forward momentum as regards the Stranger and his ilk, but certainly they'd keep you more occupied than rifling through my cabinets."

He doesn't even look at Jon as he says it. Doesn't even have to. Cocky prick.

 

The quip helps Jon gain some of his composure again, or at least look somewhat sheepish. "You never said they were off limits," he points out. Cocky prick indeed, he knew Jon couldn't resist. 

"I'll take the tapes. Every little bit helps eventually, I suppose. Getting a better idea of Gertrude's mindset is the best I can do."

Which is how he comes to listen to this:

Case 0110603, Wendy Cockleburn. Incident occurred in Chelsea, London, 15th February, 2011. Statement given, 6th of March, 2011. Committed to tape, September 9, 2011. Gertrude Robinson recording.

Thing about toffs is, they love word of mouth. Maybe it's because they don't trust nobody not to steal all their money, I certainly don't know, but you notice that those big rich families, they ain't listening to reviews or experts or advertisements. They listen to other toffs. I never got to go to university, but you can bet your bottom dollar that if I'd had a rich dad, he'd have spoken to someone who would have spoken to someone else and it wouldn't have mattered about my marks because I'd have something better. A personal recommendation. So word of mouth counts for a lot, and that's why I can do my job the way I do it. 

Me, I've been cleaning houses for a good long time. Enough that I don't need the agencies anymore. I started out with one, course I did, but I know how to charm the pants off the pope, and I'm good at my job besides, so it wasn't long before I had a real name for myself. Decided to start my own business so I could keep all me profits, and so's I didn't have to sign a bunch of agency lawyer speak for every job. If I had, I wouldn't be able to talk to you now. None of the other girls have, have they? Lucy would have liked to, I think, she's the one what gave me your address. Not that I needed it, mind. I know a little about a lot, and I know the Magnus Institute.

So let's start at the start. I've got a fair few places on my roster, but I want to tell you about one in particular. It was well posh. The other girls, they all work for an agency what services all the flats in this one complex, and they said everyone who lived their had money, real serious money, and you could see it on display the moment you walked into this flat. The owner hired me because he knew one of the other families what I've worked for, and they recommended me. What that meant, though, is that while the other girls had a whole building to get through, I was dedicated entirely to keeping this one place spick and span. 

So that meant I was there alone quite a bit, folding laundry or what have you. The owner worked a lot, so I barely saw him, and there was never any sign of anyone else living in this huge flat but him. But -- you ever get that crawly feeling on your neck, and you look up and someone's looking back at you? That feeling of being watched... I'd get that a lot. First I thought it was nannycam or something, meant to keep an eye on the cleaning staff, make sure our filthy immigrant fingers weren't touching what wasn't ours. But I've got an eye for finding stuff like that, and I couldn't. Place didn't even have a security system, which is asking for it in my opinion, though I spose the complex itself was locked right down, tough to rob. Point is, it wasn't being filmed. Didn't feel like being filmed neither. It was someone... something... watching.

On its own that wouldn't have been a bother. I'm not all that superstitious. Seen my share of weird shit, course, but I don't get the jeebies just cause I got gooseflesh or my ears are burning or someone does the evil eye. But then there was the mask. Smooth all over, it was, white and smooth, with gold filigree and big feathers. But no gaps for your eyes to look through. Instead it was ... recessed, the bulging eyeballs carved, and in just the right way that wherever in the room you stood, the mask would bloody leer at you. Those white mask eyes following me about while I did my vacuuming, dragged the sofas around. Lots of dust underneath a sofa. 

Between the mask and the eye drawing in the study, prolly wasn't a surprise that I felt looked at, was it? But the mask didn't just look. I would whisper. Not out loud, and not much, but if I came over to dust the shelves round there, it would... it would get in my head a little. Thought I was going mad at first. Maybe that's what you think now. But it knew things, that mask did. Knew stuff I'd never told nobody. And it would whisper reminders to me, as I did me work.

Then one day, I was cleaning with one of the other girls, Kimi. There was extra duties cause the owner'd had guests -- I could tell a whole separate story bout the kind of toffs what came to stay in that place sometimes. She finished fast, though, because she was a good worker for someone so young, and she was engaging in the time honoured housekeep tradition of snooping through your client's stuff. I don't, or I don't much -- not worth the headache if you get caught and they think you're stealing. Anyway, she was playing with stuff on the shelves, taking out books to look at, picking up ornaments to examine them, you know. So she picks up this mask, and she holds it up in front of her face and goes, BOO!

Harmless fun. And I says, of course, being a bit crotchety in my old age, that she should put the mask down before she dropped it and owed some stupid sum of money to the owner.

That's when she started screaming.

The mask, see, she couldn't get it off. I thought she was having a laugh at first, but when I came over I could see she really wasn't holding it in place, and when I tugged it was sealed to her skin, like a vacuum. Her screams were awful, muffled and desperate, and her nails scrabbled at the unyielding face of the mask as she tried to claw it off. "I can't see," she kept crying out, "I can't see." 

First I tried to help with just my fingers, but it was stuck fast. So I sat her down and tried to calm her down, said I'd see if I could find something to break the seal, or pry it off with. Now, the kitchen in this place looked nice on the surface but wasn't ever much beneath, but one thing it did have plenty of was knives, so I took a butter knife over and carefully slid it in between the mask and the skin.

She made a gurgling noise, sobs muffled by the stifling porcelain, but the mask didn't budge. So I began to slowly move the knife around the edges, like I was trying to loosen them up. "You've almost got it," she was saying to me, "I can feel it coming loose, just a little further."

Well, she was right. Once I'd gone right around, the mask popped off, easy as pie. And all the skin on her face came with it.

"Thank you," the mask whispered to me, still in her voice. 

It all gets a bit hazy then, but I'm fairly certain I called the police and ambulance, and the owner came home and all. 

Needless to say, word of the incident got around. And there were other stories, too, of requests to clean blood at strange hours, of the ship's bell ringing just once on its own, of photographs with the eyes all neatly cut out. Maybe at first I just let it go as the girls making up things to scare each other, but after the mask, I started to listen. There was something bad happening in that expensive, empty flat, and I wanted... I want, no part in it, or it's owner. So I left. But I needed to tell my story somehow.

It probably seems funny to you what's reading here, or it will in a minute. But I reckon you must get loads of people in off the street talking nonsense, and I bet none of what they say hits the ears of the guy at the top. So I feel like it's prolly a safe bet Mr Bouchard never reads this, unless you decide to tell him. It won't matter to me. I'm taking a holiday from the cleaning business. If he wants to give me a personal recommendation, I'll tell him where he can stick it.

Statement ends.

There's not much to say about this one, is there? I do, of course, disapprove of the fact that at least one of our more dangerous artifacts is currently being displayed in a personal collection. While I am aware that Elias Bouchard does not need a camera to keep a watch on his possessions, it still seems foolishly risky -- as demonstrated by this very incident. Police, of course, have no records of the incident being reported, and nor does the hospital recall visiting the Chelsea address given on the 15th. Regardless, what I did discover was a Jane Doe fished up on the 19th whose face was believed to have been "wholly consumed" by aquatic life. Careful, Elias, you're getting sloppy.

While I have further thoughts on some of the revelations provided by Ms Cockleburn's statement, I believe I will keep them off the record for now. Ms Cockleburn herself was unable to be contacted for follow-up, however her son in Milton Keynes told us she had left to take a working holiday indefinitely -- a cruise liner, he said. I can only hope for her sake that it was not one of the lines owned by the Lukases. 

End Recording.


	2. the lukas family request.

It's strange to be back at the Institute, or perhaps it's strange to be back and so purposely avoiding his assistants. He would like to see them, see how they're holding up, pass messages in person rather than the rare order through text or call. It was safer this way, he already decided as much, so there was nothing else to it. Avoid them, avoid the Institute.

Of course Jon couldn't avoid a summons from Elias, even if he wanted to. He considers sending a text back to snidely ask why they couldn't just speak over the phone but he doesn't.

(Maybe, just maybe, he misses the Archives themselves. The Archivist belongs in the Archives, after all, even if the place gave him chills as often as it did comfort.)

He manages to dodge everyone but Rosie, who chats happily for a moment before telling him he needs to sleep more and that Elias was waiting. Jon heads to the door, rapping on it with his knuckles before heading in.

"I'm here, what's so important that I had to trudge all the way up here?" He didn't really need to go far, he was in the area, and he's sure Elias knows it.

Won't stop his griping though. Some things never change.

 

Elias looks up from where he's been notating a sheaf of papers. He looks a little more drawn than usual, lines around his mouth deeper, age apparent. "Take a seat," he says, instead of sniping back. So it's serious, then.

Once Jon is seated on the other side of the desk, Elias tries to decide how to begin. "I've received a ... request," he says, keeping his tone carefully, professionally neutral, his expression blank. It's like they've travelled back to the days when Elias was just a suit who approved Jon's budget requests and reprimanded him about being nicer to the public. But he hadn't liked the way he'd reacted to the request in question, has smothered all of those feelings deep.

"The Lukas family, as you know, is one of the Institute's most significant contributors, as well as agents of a power in their own right. It is an alliance which has served us very well, though perhaps not always in obvious ways." Jon should still know most of this. "They want ... they've requested a representative, of the Eye, to participate in a traditional binding ritual. More specifically, they want you."

 

The lack of smarmy comment back has Jon's brow raising. He actually sits down without further comment, nerves spiking at the idea that something was clearly wrong. What now, a different apocalypse? Maybe Elias was unimpressed with his progress and going to give him some warning before he went the way of Gertrude?

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, paranoia doing a good job tying him in knots before Elias began to explain. It didn't calm him any, not really, though so far it sounded a little less dire than he was imagining. He nods along up until 'binding ritual,' which... yes. That didn't sound pleasant.

"There is nothing about the phrase 'traditional binding ritual' that sounds agreeable. What on Earth is that? And do I have an actual choice in this or is 'request' just a nice way to put it?" He asks dryly.

 

Elias rubs at his eyes suddenly, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. Normally he'd enjoy Jon's discomfort, his paranoia, his rapid string of questions as he tried to better grasp the situation. 

"I believe it would be more commonly called a _wedding_." He looks at Jon then, convinced his mouth to quirk slightly and regain some of his usual unflappable smugness. "Though doubtlessly not to anything you'd particularly enjoy being married to."

As for if he has a choice: "I can't refuse them," Elias admits. "Not without very good reason. We have been attacked enough in the last two years alone that we cannot afford to lose an alliance, unless we want Artifacts to go the way of Leitner's library."

 

Jon stares blankly a moment, almost expectant around the edges, like Elias was clearly going to turn around and say 'wedding' was a joke. When he doesn't and actually goes on about how there was no choice here, Jon stutters out a response.

" _Wedding_? What the hell is this, some period drama before World War I? There is absolutely no damn way I'm agreeing to being betrothed like some heiress of a titled family, Elias. This is absolutely absurd."

With that out of his system he acknowledges the mentioned lack of choice, grimacing and fixing Elias with an intense stare. "Please tell me there's some way out of this. Why the hell can't _you_ marry whoever- whatever it is? You're more important than I am."

 

"I did look into it," Elias admits, because he had sort of expected Jon would react like this, while he feels a lot more cavalier about the idea. "It does seem that if the Archivist is unavailable then another agent would be an acceptable second choice." 

But before Jon can get his hopes up: "However _unavailability_ , in this case, seems to only include a limited range of possibilities. If you were dead, obviously, or comatose, or trapped on some other plane. You could ask _Michael_ to kidnap you, perhaps, he isn't fond of the Lukases. But you wouldn't be getting much work done while wandering in the Spiral's maze." Elias taps his pen lightly against the paper, an unusually human tic. "Or if you were already bound to someone — I don't suppose you have a wife somewhere none of us knew about?" (As though he could keep that sort of secret from Elias.)

 

"Of course you would," Jon sighs, and yes, even though he brought up Elias doing it instead he's going to poke at Elias being so unconcerned by the idea of being bound to whatever awful thing the Lukases wanted. 

He grimaces at the idea of asking Michael for help, let alone spending lord knew how long in what he assumed was the equivalent of Michael's stomach. He huffs a humourless laugh at the wife comment. "I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be able to hide that from you, and you are the one that said I can't even maintain friendly relationships." He stops, sitting up straighter. "What about getting married then? The way people do for green cards and the like. I'd rather not have to ask that of Georgie but it's preferable to... whatever this is."

 

"That would work," Elias agrees, putting down the papers carefully and neatly, shuffling them into a pile. He picks up his mug (which absolutely says WORLD'S BEST BOSS) but it's empty, puts it down again a touch too hard.

"Although. It would be very dangerous for her," Elias adds, making himself look at Jon again. "Perhaps lethally so, should the Lukases decide they really do want their first choice. Not to mention if some other faction gets wind of it. _Sharing a house_ might not mean much to the Stranger, but a _contract_ , that's another matter all together."

 

If Jon wasn't so preoccupied with this marriage nonsense he would absolutely have some snide remarks about that mug. Instead he looks defeated. Elias was right, of course. There was no way he'd put Georgie in danger like that, not for this.

"So there's no actual solution. They'll likely kill anyone I pretend to marry," he mutters, leaning forward and pushing his glasses up so he can rub his face with his hands. "Fantastic. Bloody _wonderful_."

 

"There's exactly two solutions that aren't going through with it," Elias says. It sounds like he's been thinking about this since long before he called Jon to his office. "One, we'll fake your death or disappearance, try and put you somewhere they can't get to, at least until I've undergone the ritual and they no longer need you. It would be a blow, to have you seriously out of commission, but I think by now your team is up to the task of managing the shortfall."

He straightens his shoulders, keeps his gaze steady when he looks across the desk at Jon. "Two, you and I pretend to an engagement, thus removing both their candidates without endangering any other parties, and making the whole thing moot." If it's a joke, he's not laughing, his pale eyes serious and intent as he holds Jon's gaze.

 

"I don't have the time for that and we both know it." Jon wants to sound irritated but again it comes off more defeated than anything. The Stranger wasn't going to slow down by any means, and they both knew Jon was not the type who'd be able to sit and wait patiently. Given his track record he'd probably still be found even if he did.

He freezes as Elias continues, hands dropping so he can look up and find whatever amused, smug look Elias was wearing at such a joke. But there is no smug look, and Elias doesn't look any different from the serious suggestions he's given in the past. 

Jon swallows unconsciously. "I- you're serious? If this is a joke it's a damned poor time for it, Elias."

 

"I'm serious," Elias says. "You can't deny that it's an elegant way to solve all our problems. We can pretend — or we can actually marry, if you prefer, I don't care." He seemed willing enough to marry the Lukas' prospective bridemonster, and Jon is surely an improvement. "Casual workplace fraternization is generally discouraged, of course, but I believe people are less bothered by spouses working together."

 

"... you're serious." It's more for Jon himself than Elias, because digesting this suggestion as not only a serious on but easily the most agreeable one was... well, it was something. What that something was Jon wasn't sure.

He stares a beat longer, thoughts going overtime though the answer was clear enough. "All right. Fine- I mean, assuming we go through with this, are you absolutely certain the Lukases will buy it? It would certainly seem suspiciously timed." He tries to sound composed and logical, a fruitless endeavor given how thrown he is by everything that happened since he came into the office. "And what about you? Do you really want to fake an engagement or marriage?"

 

"Let me handle convincing the Lukases," Elias says, with just a hint of menace in his mild tone. Possibly the Lukases won't enjoy being convinced. Certainly he knows what he'd be telling them if they were trying to poach his husband out from under him.

As for what he wants — Elias makes a point of not coming face to face with that question much if at all, and he doesn't really engage with it now. "Better you than a monster I don't know." he says, which sort of is a joke, though his smile is more a grimace than anything smugger. "But it doesn't really concern me. I am somewhat married to the job — anything else is just... paperwork."

 

Jon didn't envy the Lukases having to deal with Elias when he had that tone. Even if every statement he read of them painted the family as terrifying in their own right, Elias was still a force to be reckoned with. 

He relaxes despite himself. Fake marriage or engagement to Elias was it's own can of worms to be sure, but it was better than the alternative by a long shot. "I think this would be the perfect place to use 'better the devil you know,'" he says dryly. At least Elias has some investment in him, and he can't say he hates the man, even though he should. It is rather difficult to completely alienate the only person who even remotely understands your position.

Whatever ease he feels is short lived, quickly replaced with a typical awkwardness. "So we... how are we doing this exactly? Will just telling them we're together be enough?" Lord, what if they investigate? If they are really so set on this.

 

"I'll say we got engaged," Elias muses. "Should they believe it just a convenience, well, we're the subject of enough gossip lately that it shouldn't be too hard to craft a believable backstory to our relationship. How convincing we'll have to be and for how long will depend entirely on the Lukases. But I'll get started on the legal side, so that if they do decide to press the issue we can elope."

There's a flicker of this calm professionalism caused entirely by the word elope, and Elias glances down at his hands, finds them empty. 

"I'll draw up a potential timeline and email it to you," he says, like if he couches this as a work thing it will be easier for both of them to cope with. Then he looks up, softens by degrees. "I won't do anything without consulting you, but we may need to pretend for the staff here. I'm not going to ask if you'd be comfortable with that — I doubt you'd be comfortable with it even if we were actually having a torrid affair. But could you endure it, at least?"

 

"I'm half tempted to ask if that nonsense with Daisy was all preplanned," Jon sighs. He doesn't believe that but he _could_ , which goes to show how deep Elias' nonsense sometimes seems to go. 

The word elope almost makes him laugh, a tension release more than any sort of amusement because, frankly, he feels like he's in some sort of bizarro world at the moment. "I can't wait for the rumors around the Institute now. I lose my mind, I murder a man and run off and now I'm in a relationship with my boss. Excellent. At least that explains why you haven't fired me yet."

After that nervous, dry little tirade he settles, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, I can. What... what would that entail? I ah, I suppose coming in together would help."

 

"Yes," Elias agrees thoughtfully. "Would you like to come stay with me again? You can move a few things in. Not only will it make coming and going together easier, the Lukases have been to that particular flat on several occasions — I can invite them there to discuss this further and it would make the story that we've been together a while more believable."

 

"It- yes, I suppose that would make the most sense," Jon agrees, clearly still thrown despite being the one who brought the idea up. "I hardly am at my own flat anymore as it is."

The thought of Elias staying in his flat is laughable. Elias' ability to handle less posh accommodations aside, Jon has the feeling the more rowdy neighbors wouldn't exactly be to Elias' taste. He brushes the thought aside, focusing on a much more important one. "Are you... sure? About this. I mean I'm grateful but I hardly see why you'd put yourself out for it."

He really needs to learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

Elias touched his tongue to the back of his teeth with an amused little tut. "I'm sure. As our options go, it's the best of a bad lot. It avoids agitating an alliance while still keeping you—" Here. Safe. (Somewhere deep and unacknowledged, mine.) "From something you don't want. So that's that. Sorted."

Meeting over, apparently. "I've got a board meeting until six," he adds. "But if you don't mind waiting with can drop by yours afterwards." He might even actually come inside this time.

 

Maybe before Elias' rescue he might have immediately shot back with ' _since when do you care what I want or don't_?' He considers it, self preservation be damned, but it doesn't settle well on his tongue for whatever reason so he swallows it down. Of course he should know better, whatever Elias is doing here is no doubt part of some long-term chess game he's playing with the word. The fact it's working out for Jon is likely just coincidence.

Elias ends the meeting just as he considers whether he should keep his peace or bother with awkward gratitude. He's thankful for the interruption in all honesty, and nods. "I have some matters to look into here, I'll be in the Archives when you're done."

He hesitates once more before nodding to Elias and heading out. He did have things to do, some things to check in his office and- and well, he did say he'd try to talk to his assistants. Maybe he could find Martin or Basira, they were infinitely easier to deal with. (He wonders why he thinks of Basira as an assistant when she's a _hostage_.) He lets the matter drop.

Feel free to find him nose deep in some papers in his office after six.

 

Elias does, with a light rap on the door, shoulder on the frame. "Come on," he says crisply. There aren't really many other people left in the office at this hour, so probably nobody even notices they're leaving together, but it's good practice.

The interior of Elias's car doesn't even have the faintest bloodstain anymore, so much for Jon's vindictive bleeding. He drives them around to Jon's, though he's quiet for once, a fairly comfortable silence all things considered. And yes, given they don't have Daisy to worry about, he does get out of the car and come up.

"Need help packing anything?" he asks, looking around Jon's flat idly by with no apparent curiosity.

 

Jon at least managed an awkward conversation with Martin, no actual information was passed along but it was a start, right? Maybe enough Daisy would stay off his case if they met again soon. Other than that it was good to be back in the Archives, he had to admit, however briefly. Sometimes he missed the place more than he wanted to admit.

When Elias appears he nearly jumps, fallen into a work driven haze as he went through files. He nods hastily, taking a few folders and tucking them under his arm before following. He tries not to be obvious in his glances at anyone who may pass- it's something he's going to have to get used to, yes? He wonders exactly how long this charade will last, or maybe how long Elias will put up with it. Hard to say.

He keeps quiet during the car ride besides a muttered comment about blood stains. It isn't until they reach his place that he pulls his head out of the folders he brought along.

"No, that's quite all right. This won't take long." His flat doesn't have much of note. No pictures really, his grandmother wasn't particularly sentimental and neither was he, so there wasn't much to chose from even if he thought to put something up. Most of the mess of work he brought home with him was stashed away now, Gertrude's tapes in particular, leaving only some loose papers and pictures. There were few books, mostly untouched after the first read, and the tv looked like an afterthought. 

All in all it actually looked mostly like the slight mess it had right before Leitner's death. The amount of times he'd actually been back to his flat since then he could count on one hand, and the lack of care showed. Jon tries not to let it bother him, it was only Elias, why would he care? He does though, despite himself, so when he heads to his room to pack a bag he does so quickly.

When he comes back it's with a bag slung over his shoulder. "I'm ready, let's go."

 

Elias, unlike some people, doesn't snoop. He just waits patiently in Jon's little flat. It feels like an abandoned space, just a place for an assortment of barely-wanted things to moulder. But it's also lived-in, even if only in the past tense. Moreso than Elias' beautiful facade. This impression doubles when he follows Jon to the doorway of his bedroom and watches him pack. Despite Jon's awkwardness, there's no judgement in Elias' observation, just curiosity.

After a moment, he goes back to the main room. Goes to the kitchen and takes a mug. Picks a book nearly at random — anything that looks in counterpoint to his own austere collection. Takes a piece of paper with Jon's handwriting on — it's probably nothing, a grocery list or notes on a statement.

"All right," he says when Jon emerges, and he takes these items down to the car with him. "It's the little touches," he says of them. "That are most convincing." 

So yes, when they get back to his place: the mug goes in the kitchen, out of place. The note goes on the fridge. And the book gets positioned casually on his coffee table. It's like he's constructing a crime scene, and he's dreadfully smug about it.

 

To be fair most people don't have abilities that make snooping pointless, huh Elias. In Jon's room is what he collects, and because I collect it as well it's owl trinkets, neatly on his desk and a shelf above. He hasn't taken any, though when Elias says something about the little touches he pauses, sighs and heads to grab one. 

"Details, yes yes." He answers, and when they get back he hesitates before pocketing the trinket he brought along. If they were playing 'little touches' then it would go into his bedroom which-

Which he would share with Elias. He exhales through his nose, trying to think around it. He could stay in one of the guest rooms but if it looked lived in at all that would certainly break and illusions. Would the Lukases be thorough enough to investigate something like that?

Elias would know better, so Jon clears his throat. "What ah... what are we doing about the sleeping arrangement?"

 

Elias looks over from his consideration of the living room. "You should at least put your clothes and toiletries in my room," he says, apparently thinking along similar lines, and heads there. 

Much like the rest of the flat, Elias' bedroom is spacious and minimalist, all whites and woods and sunshine. He has an ensuite and a walk-in wardrobe, so mostly what his bedroom contains is the bed, big and comfortable, and a small nightstand on one side, a tall lamp on the other. His decor is a single shelf with two photographs whose frames have been deliberately placed face down, and an unnerving Francis Bacon tryptich on the wall above the bed.

"You can take the bed from now on, if you like." What Elias' plans would be, he doesn't say.

 

Jon follows, eager despite himself to see the one area he really hadn't had a chance to explore yet. It is what he expects after seeing the rest of Elias' space, through the two photographs faced down immediately catch his attention. He resists the urge to explore that little mystery, if only because Elias' comment catches him off guard.

"Where are you sleeping then?" His brow raises- maybe Elias would take a guest room? That seems oddly polite somehow, and he finds himself wanting to argue it over the principle of the matter for some damn reason.

 

"I can sleep in the guest room and make the bed after," Elias says. "Or I can sleep in the study and use the en suite to emerge from the bedroom if necessary." And by sleep, does he mean actually sleep or just do more work? Probably the latter. Still, he seems to sense Jon's agitation and sighs lightly, puts a hand on his forearm to hold his attention. "It's fine, Jon, truly. I'm not a particularly fussy sleeper, and I don't want to make this more awkward for you than it has to be."

 

Jon frowns, quite ready to start a debate about it before Elias intercepts him with the hand and comment. These moments of what seems to be considerate forethought always throw Jon- it was clearly more posturing for whatever long term goal Elias had, yet he still foolishly felt some level of gratitude.

He brushes the thought aside. "I can do the same, I just don't see why you should give up your own bed in all this." Stubborn.

 

"Your presence in my bed is more important than my presence in my bed, which will be something of a given, it being my bed and all," points out Elias. Basically, he can get away with being elsewhere without it looking too suspicious. Still: "If they visit," he says — and he's had a growing but unnatural certainty that that is the most likely thing to occur, a sham of a meeting designed to check Elias' story. "We'll have to share. Until then, it's yours."

 

Jon can't argue the logic of that, Elias is right. He sighs but nods, glancing over to the bed in question. Sharing a bed with Elias- he nearly chuckles at how ridiculous it is such a mundane thing concerns him. For god's sake, he's likely going to be ripped apart by puppets covered in flesh and he's _embarrassed_ at the idea of intimacy with his boss. 

"All right... do you think they'll visit?" Jon has the feeling they will, otherwise Elias wouldn't mention it as much as he has. He glances back over. "If this works what will they do? They won't go after someone else from the Archives, will they?"

 

"With you and I unavailable, there's no-one else suitable," Elias says dismissively. He crosses the room, and takes both small photo frames off the shelf, and slips them into the pocket of his overcoat.

"The Lukas' next thought would be to kill one of us — which would lose the Eye's alliance and therefore their leverage, making that pointless. So they'll want to evaluate the relationship. Research, at first, though that is hardly their forte." Elias is deeply, deeply disdainful of poor research methods, apparently — maybe he's thinking of a certain space program. 

He crosses back to Jon. "As they realize the kind of men we are, based on the information available to them, they'll come to the conclusion that we're either lying or mismatched—" and here he gives Jon a private little smile, like this is amusing. "And decide to visit me unexpectedly in the hopes of catching us out. Should the ruse here convince them, they will doubtlessly attempt to subtly fracture our relationship, and only when that doesn't work will they begin to seek other alternatives, though by that point their deadline will be very close."

If Jon's ever wanted to know what it's like in Elias' head, there's a sample.

 

Well now his interest in those photos has doubled, thanks Elias. He tries not to be too obvious in watching Elias slip them away. Something personal? That seems more a possibility than anything else. Why were they face down before Jon even entered? Why go through the trouble of taking them rather than asking Jon not to look?

He resolves to ask about them once the moment presented itself, at worst Elias would not tell him anything. He should probably be more focused on the problem at hand anyway. "You certainly have this down to the letter, don't you? And what happens when their deadline is here? Will they do something rash to meet it?"

Good to know he'd have another group trying to kill him, since he couldn't imagine they'd go after Elias.

 

"The likelihood of that is negligibly low," Elias tells him. Pats him on the shoulder lightly, a touch stilted; he's trying out human affection apparently. "I'll reevaluate based on how they take the news." He can't actually predict the future, Jon. Just causal behaviour. For example:

"Don't bother me about the photographs, Archivist," he says, squeezing Jon's arm once before letting go, his tone friendly. "Or I really will just turn you over to the Lukases." And with that he leaves Jon to unpack.

 

Jon tenses, and realizes it's more out of the novelty of Elias touching him than any perfectly reasonable fear of Elias being near him. Fantastic, he was getting comfortable with his fake fiance who just happened to be a murderer. His life was a mess beyond measure.

Elias mentioning the photographs makes him stiffen before he can stop himself, giving his interest away before he could even formulate a lie. "Right..." He answers, watching Elias go, somewhere between put out and intimidated. When Elias is gone he sighs to himself. "Probably just have them out to seem more bloody mysterious, dramatic bastard."

He doesn't actually believe that but if he didn't have muttering snidely about Elias what did he have? He goes about unpacking, thoroughly checking the room before doing so because hey, he had the chance now, right? He puts his clothes away, puts his toiletries in the adjoining bathroom and finishes off putting the owl on one of the shelves. It looks suitably shoddy next to Elias' things, something he considers a victory.

He leaves the room after he's done, regarding the entire area with new eyes. "Lord, this is mad, you know. Have you ever even been in a serious relationship? Maybe during your more... wild youth?" Straight to questions. He gives Elias an innocent look. "It's something a fiance would know, yes?"

 

Elias' closet has drawers that actually contain things! Except they're not very exciting, unless you plan to rifle through his underwear drawer. It's all socks and ties and gloves and cufflinks and tie pins, that sort of thing. Still, this abundance of clothing is the first time some part of this flat has felt used and lived-in and filled? So it's notable. 

The rest of the place is all sort of more of the same, though if Jon knows enough to check the cistern he'll find a handgun in a plastic bag — it's not actually Gertrude's murder weapon, but maybe it serves as a reminder. But then again, who checks the toilet, right?

Jon emerges to ask that question and Elias already has a glass of whiskey in hand; he takes a fortifying draught of it. "Are we going to play _things a fiancée would know_? All right. I think I'd better get you a drink."

He'll at least answer while he pours, but slowly, musing. "A serious relationship... not since college. I date a lot, but mostly because people are superficially interesting. Never more than one date."

 

"Trust me, I understand it's a double edged sword." Jon assures him, because yes, as interesting as it was learning about whatever humanity Elias did or didn't have it opened up a level of prying no one would be comfortable with. "But I'm not wrong, am I? Especially given our... vocations. I'd rather hope they don't play twenty questions but I've never been that lucky."

Jon nods to that, and of course it's interesting despite his better sense. "You date now? That's... surprising." He really did have trouble imagining Elias outside of the Institute. "Why bother if they're only superficially interesting? Sounds like a waste to me."

 

"Superficially interesting is still interesting," Elias says. "I like to talk to people, or more accurately, I like getting people to talk about themselves, and taking someone to dinner is just about the most socially acceptable strategy there is." And then after listening attentively for an evening he never calls again. Elias has probably broken a few hearts without even realizing.

He carries his and Jon's drinks over to the sofas, and sits on one side of the long one this time, leaving space for Jon. "But that's quite different from dating seriously. So there's no one you should particularly know about. And what about you, Jon?" There's that other edge, then. Elias looks avid. Take your drink, Jon.

 

"So you trick them into telling their interesting stories then you don't call back?" Jon sounds somewhere between mildly disbelieving and amused despite himself. "I suppose it makes sense, in a mildly sociopathic way. It certainly helps you keep up appearances."

Jon wonders what he got himself into, exhaling through his nose before walking around the sofa and taking the drink. At least they were far enough along he doesn't immediately wonder if it's poisoned. "And here I thought you'd know, given the depths of your knowledge on the staff in particular." Yes, there's an accusation there. Big talk for a guy who stalked his coworkers for months. 

He hesitates over the glass before taking a drink and continuing. "I haven't dated in years, and haven't been in anything serious since since University."

 

Elias knows, of course, that he's single _now_ , since that much wouldn't escape him. But there's a lot of personal life minutia he doesn't actually know, hasn't really made the effort to find out. Such as: "Why not?" he asks directly, apparently not pulling punches here. "Obviously within the last year the idea's been untenable, but putting that aside."

 

Jon hesitates again, mostly because he hadn't really considered 'why not' in the past. Now that he does he wishes he could dismiss the question, but he was the one who started it, didn't he?

"Time constraints, I suppose. Once I started working at the Institute I didn't see the point in wasting time on dates that inevitably went nowhere. Becoming Head Archivist only doubled the workload, as you well know." He gives Elias a bit of a _look_ at that before offering something a little more personal and substantial with great reluctance. "Frankly I've always found the song and dance around dating emotionally performative and exhausting."

 

Emotionally performative is basically Elias' middle name, but he still agrees. Doesn't seem particularly put off by the look — Jon loves his job and his workaholic tendencies are entirely self-inflicted, Elias feels no guilt at all about promoting him. 

"Well. Skipping right to the engagement should be a refreshing change of pace for you, then," Elias says with amusement, sipping his drink and watching Jon over the rim of his glass. "I suppose we should invent how the emotionally performative bit went." Teasing, dryly: "Did you come into my office and seduce me?"

 

"I'm not sure 'refreshing' is how I'd describe this," Jon answers dryly. Of course despite knowing Elias is poking fun at him for a reaction Jon reacts, hands tightening around his glass and shoulders rising. "Of course _not_. It- I don't even need to look at you to know you have that smug look on your face, stop it."

He clears his throat, trying to give the subject of their 'relationship' and it's start some real thought. "We don't exactly have much of a timeframe, do we? I suppose if we want some longevity to this fictional relationship we should say it started before I knew of your... everything." He pauses, then amends, "Or some of that everything at least. Maybe you saving my life put you back in my good graces for whatever reason, old times and what not."

 

Elias is cheshire cat grinning to himself over here. It's so, so easy to get a reaction out of Jon, and now that he knows that he's never going to stop. He even chuckles a little when Jon accuses him of being smug.

"So, we started something of an affair back when you first received the Archivist position, but it was all kept very quiet," he summarizes. "Then of course you were too busy losing your mind for several months for any real developments, but after I saved you, you decided to move in here and things got serious, and now we want to marry so we can be public about our relationship without accusations of nepotism." He smiles slightly. "My, we are rushing into things, aren't we."

 

Jon rolls his eyes, though Elias isn't wrong. "This theoretical relationship is a rollercoaster, yes. Hardly surprising given the events surrounding it and your deceptions." He sounds incriminating there, and then feels somewhat ridiculous for it. Of course Elias did deceive him, yes, but not as an actual partner.

He takes a drink from his glass pointedly, grimaces then continues. "We can say I also wanted the chance before this job inevitably kills me, probably soon. Do you think that will satisfy them?"

 

" _Inevitably_ ," Elias echoes in disbelief. "I'd hope if we were lovers you'd have a little more faith in me than that, Archivist." For once, there's nothing playful about it; he seems genuinely peeved, so point to Jon.

"What am I going to have to do to make it clear to you," he says flatly, eyes intent, "That I do not intend to let you die. Nor am I going to _murder_ you, Jon — I'd probably answer more of your questions if I was." He sighs, takes a long drink from his drink. They're getting off-topic, outside the confines of their fictional relationship and into their very real one.

 

Jon has a quip on his lips, something along the lines of 'I'm not sure you won't be the one that kills me,' but Elias' annoyance keeps him mercifully silent. He's a little surprised in all honesty, part of him comfortably assumed the all the... care Elias occasionally showed was a transparent act, a message of some sort. Play your part right and things will be easier. 

"Can you blame me for my disbelief? You're the one who sent me out there blind, straight to Perry and Crew- and Daisy. You're the one that killed Gertrude, and I still don't know exactly why. You tasked me with something I still don't know the rules or shape of, not really, and why wouldn't you get rid of my if I fail in some way I wouldn't even notice?" He considers Elias for a long moment before sitting back some, brow furrowing. "I'll admit, Perry only let me live because of you. She said she felt grateful for Gertrude, and that you wanted me alive."

 

"I did," Elias says quietly, once he thinks Jon's finally finished. "I do."

He wants to ask Jon to trust him again, but it's not a thing you can order someone to do. Trust is a fragile, careful construction. Elias is equally good at building and breaking it, but reparations — 

"If this were chess — now, I hesitate to compare what I'm doing to a game," says Elias carefully, putting more visible thought into his words than he usually does. "And if it's chess then it's chess with multiple boards and many players, and even independent pieces — but were I to use such a simplistic analogy, you're my queen piece." His voice is calm and logical as he lays out his rationale: "If you can't believe that I want you alive for personal reasons, at least understand that you're rare, and useful, and very difficult to replace, and therefore of more value to me alive than most other things are of value to me."

 

The analogy is somehow more comforting than disturbing. It should be disturbing, more proof Elias sees them all as pieces of a set, disposable even if some are more useful or quite rare. It does disturb him but at the very least he can _understand_ it, more and more the farther he gets into it all. 

"And that's why you're bothering with this facade?" He asks after a beat, still regarding Elias closely. "If I'm married off to some pet monster of the Lukas family it takes me off the board for however long? No, that's not it, you were willing to help me fake death for a lengthy period. Then is it alliances? I'd be too much in their clutches if they succeeded?"

 

Elias rolls his eyes — actually rolls his eyes like a teenager. "Outlining my motivation is beginning to grow tiresome, Jon. Figure it out yourself," he says tartly, because he doesn't like to speak long on the topic of why he wants Jon safe. The fact that answering only leads to more questions with the Archivist is part of why he prefers to just dodge in the first place.

He is trying, though. To let Jon in on the workings of their shared universe. To give him answers.

"Look," he says with a sigh, rubbing a palm over his jaw. "The point is, while I'm not actually omnipotent, you aren't as much at risk of an early grave as you seem to think you are."

 

Jon isn't sure whether to be offended by that or amused that he managed to get Elias to roll his eyes. Sometimes you had to take your victories where you could get them. 

"If I didn't think you were trying to reassure me in your own way I'd be offended," he finally answers, clearly resisting the urge to question some more points. "It's... thank you? I suppose."

He's quiet for a long moment, as if internally debating something before he settles, placing his glass down on the table as he leans forward. "You know I can't just trust you, not after everything. Sometimes I'm still not entirely sure I trust Martin or Tim, and they've proven themselves more than enough. I'm not convinced all of this isn't some long term manipulation like everything else seems to have been.

"But-" his lips thin, as if this was the difficult part, "you're... different. I think you may be the only one even remotely capable of... ha, _empathizing,_ as ridiculous as that sounds, with all this."

 

"I'm probably the closest any living person comes to understanding what you're going through," Elias agrees, seemingly not offended at the idea that this is all some long con. "I don't know if I'd call it empathy. But I know you, and I know the details of your circumstances, and therefore I can make educated guesses at how you feel about it."

Elias peers down at his empty glass. "I can't remember the last time I got properly drunk, but I'll admit the urge is certainly present tonight."

 

"And you killed the person who would likely understand more," Jon points out, somewhat dry despite the subject matter. Elias isn't wrong, of course. 

He picks up his glass again. "Well that would certainly add to the fiction, wouldn't it? An atypical drunken night leading to workplace trysts. Lord, I don't know if this fake Jonathan Sims is in more or less of a mess. At least he's getting laid," he mutters, takes a drink, then nearly chokes when he realizes what he just said.

 

Elias brightens immediately at that little splutter; he didn't even have to do anything that time, Jon just walked straight into it. 

"Speaking of," he says casually, just to see if he can embarrass Jon further. "You're going to have to stop reacting like a startled cat every time I so much as touch your arm." Or caress it, as the case may be. "So you're going to drink, and then we're going to do some exposure therapy."

 

God damnit. "I do not react like a 'startled cat,'" Jon shoots back, and even he knows it's bullshit so he sighs. He considers making the excuse that he's just not used to being... _tactile_ with people, but decides it didn't matter either way. Elias isn't wrong, and he hates it.

He takes a longer drink from his glass, grimacing again at the taste before leveling Elias with a look. "... what do you mean 'exposure therapy?'" They were going to god damn cuddle on the couch, weren't they? Jon's life.

 

"You know exactly what I mean," Elias says. "I'll go slow." He at least manages to say that with a straight face, though he is a touch amused watching Jon scrunch up at his very expensive whiskey. "Remind me also to pick up some of whatever it is you actually like to drink," he murmurs — speaking of not being omnipresent, he doesn't have a solid idea of what Jon _would_ like.

 

"You're hilarious," Jon answers dryly. And with a touch of nerves. He refuses to be an awkward teenager about this, thank you. Not that he'll succeed in that, but he can try.

When he finishes the glass he places it aside. "I just don't care for whiskey, I suppose," he admits. "I assume I just wasted a glass of something painfully expensive."

 

Elias chuckles. "It still catches me off guard a little, that you can sound like you do and still have absolutely no taste." Which is to say: "Yes. I do have a selection of other bottles you're welcome to."

 

"Just because we don't have the same taste hardly means I have no taste." He has no taste. "Then I suppose I'll try something else, if we're going to do this."

He gets up to find something more bearable to his tastes, gin to be precise, before heading back over. "... we're keeping our respective last names." Jon never thought those would be words he'd say to fucking Elias Bouchard.

 

"Agreed." That's not a hill he'd die on whether fictional or otherwise. 

He lets Jon settle back to the couch with his gin (it is nice gin, still, though he suspects Jon doesn't know the difference — how can he sound like there's a silver spoon perpetually under his tongue and yet be so common?) and then shifts himself a little closer. Places his hand lightly on Jon's forearm, and nothing more; he really had meant slow, apparently.

"Tell me when you're ready to move on," he tells Jon quietly.

 

Jon does not know the difference, though he suspects it, and while he doesn't drink it with a grimace it's clear he doesn't know how to savour a good liquor. Ah well. 

He doesn't jump this time, though he does tense unconsciously before relaxing. He finds himself irrationally irritated, why did Elias have to be so damn _understanding_ about the whole thing? He was supposed to be the bloody villain, and Jon was supposed to be smart and paranoid enough to always remember that. 

Another drink and he nods. "Go ahead."

 

Elias finishes his own drink and puts the empty glass on the table. There's something intent about the way he looks at Jon now, concentrating on solving the puzzle of him. He shifts closer along the couch, hand sliding slowly up to Jon's bicep through his shirt, and then across (careful, careful, wary of thin ice) his chest, and then up, up, fingertips skating up his neck to cup that sharp jaw, thumb lightly there until the tension leaves it.

 

Jon does try to stay relaxed, a largely fruitless endeavor since he can't help but try to anticipate what Elias will do next, what he must be thinking. It's a little hard to act natural when his natural inclinations weren't much better than what they were trying to avoid. He tries, at least, to push certain things from his mind. Elias' hands stained in his blood, or Daisy's comments when they met in his hallway. _Just make sure you're ready when the time comes_ , like either Elias had to die or they had to. 

It didn't feel terrible, and that certainly helps clear his head. After the initial tension drains he can't help but lean into touch without thinking, soaking it up. It's probably lucky he doesn't realize as much because it would absolutely bring that tension back.

 

It's just supposed to be acclimation. Clinical, almost. But Jon presses his cheek into Elias' hand like he's greedy for it, and call-and-response, it awakens an answering flare of possessiveness in Elias' chest.

After a moment, he slips closer again. This time, this time his arm goes around Jon's shoulders, tugging him in close to his side. He doesn't touch him otherwise, yet, just letting him settle however he likes into the half embrace, making room for him. It's difficult to keep his touch mild, though, has to consciously relax his hand so his fingers don't bite cruelly into Jon's shoulder.

"All right?" he checks again, voice low.

 

It's definitely a start that he doesn't startle or tense too much at that, lulled to a certain amount of comfort at Elias' touches. It's _nice_ in a way it really shouldn't be, but frankly he doesn't damn well care at the moment. He doesn't fight the tug but he does hesitate a moment before giving in to the urge to shift a little closer still. Elias smells _expensive_ , of course, and somehow that's comforting too.

He swallows when Elias speaks, unwilling to give up the feeling to his own awkwardness or the many reasons why he should not be comfortable in Elias' grip. "Yes," he answers quietly back.

 

There are so many reasons and yet — here they are. 

"Good," he murmurs back. Elias isn't a particularly tactile creature himself, but he finds he likes this, having Jon close (and blessedly _quiet_ for once). He rubs his hand idly over Jon's arm, closes his eyes to better listen to him breathing, and lets everything stay at this level for a little while, warm and pleasant, content with the knowledge that his Archivist is _exactly_ where he should be.

"Maybe we should share the bed," he says, consideringly, because he thinks he could sleep like this even though he's never trusted anybody enough to sleep in their presence before. "As practice." Since he can't just go around hugging Jon at inopportune moments to inoculate him, but increasing their intimacy in a way that is vulnerable but still platonic (ostensibly) seems like a good compromise.

 

Jon shifts again, giving in to indulgence to rest his head against Elias' shoulder while the moment still held strong. It's surprisingly easy to ignore the inevitable fallout of something like this, focusing instead on Elias' heartbeat, solid and human in a way the small, human hints in Elias were appealing. He exhales, letting it lull him further into whatever the hell this was that he clearly needed. Maybe Elias did too, not that the man would admit such a thing.

Elias' question breaks him out of the reverie somewhat, but not entirely. Certainly not enough to pull away. He can feel himself tensing as his thoughts stir, mostly the ones that were completely all right with the idea of falling asleep like this despite his better judgement - eager, even. He exhales, trying to release the tension again. 

"It wouldn't hurt to try," he admits. It's strange to hear the vibration of Elias' words, pressed against him like this. Nice. "Could you fall asleep like that?"

 

"I suppose we'll find out," Elias says neutrally, since he isn't certain, but he suspects he could. "If nothing else my bed is expansive enough we could practically sleep separately while still in it." It's like, a California King or something obscene.

He can feel Jon relaxing — forcing himself to relax — and he turns his face and presses what is unmistakably a kiss to the top of his head. Just testing the gestures of affection waters, for himself as much as Jon. He leaves his face there, nuzzling Jon's hair. "You're doing very well," he adds, quietly sincere.

 

Jon huffs an amused breath against Elias' shoulder. "That bed wouldn't even fit in my flat," he says in way of agreement. It's pretty likely he'd be better off canceling his lease at this point, given how little time he spent in the damn place. He isn't sure he's ready to give it up regardless.

He freezes when he realizes what Elias was doing, rather stricken by how uncharacteristic the gesture was yet how easily Elias seemed capable of it. He exhales, slowly, finds himself melting into the embrace again, the _nuzzling_ , more so at the words than anything else. He knows he should have a quip about that on his tongue but he doesn't. He swallows and hesitantly rests his hand against Elias' chest, pressing against fine cloth and his heartbeat.

"It's not as terrible as it should be," he admits, more sincerely than he'd like.

 

Jon tenses, and for a moment Elias thinks he's found the line, the limit, that Jon is about to pull away, but then he relaxes again and cuddles closer instead. Elias can't help but marvel at that, at how pliant Jon is right now with barely two drinks in him, and how soft his greying hair.

"No," Elias agrees, quiet, careful not to sound like he's making fun. "That's a good thing, of course. The easier it comes, the more natural we'll seem. Couples have an ease, an intimacy around each other that we're only going to reach through practice."

This little lecture slash justification over, Elias touches Jon's wrist, where his hand is warm and heavy at his chest, and lapses back into their earlier reverie, concentrating on nothing except the way their breathing's synced.

 

"Not exactly the sort of thing I thought I'd be practicing. Suppose it's necessary, even in relationships I wasn't really this tactile." Mostly because he didn't know how to initiate it gracefully. This is easier, it has justification and necessity. 

Frankly he feels more lightheaded and warm over the contact than the alcohol but it was a good excuse.

For the first time Elias touching him doesn't cause any initial tension, he simply watches the action with a lazy sort of curiosity. His mind drifts and he wonders idly at at a few things, like if Elias' presence did resonate with whatever part of him was no longer human. He didn't want to embrace that part, not just yet, but Elias had a point about how fighting it would likely destroy Jonathan Sims. If he was trapped in this fate he really should consider how best to manage it, how to retain something of himself, maybe how to find fulfillment that didn't come from completely losing his mind.

Elias could help with that, Elias was the only one who could. As he closes his eyes, mind drifting further, he thinks the part of him that's the Archivist might latch onto that, to whatever Elias is to him. Them. The Eye as well. It's a strange mix of thoughts that would send him into a panic if he wasn't so calm, if he didn't have the strange feeling of safety right here in this moment.

His breath evens out, a clear indication he's starting to fall asleep. Guess the sleeping in the same bed plan was definitely a good one.

 

Eventually Elias' hand goes from his wrist up to his face again, catches his jaw lightly to tip Jon's head up. Elias could kiss him like this — it would be easy, and it's appealing, Jon's mouth red and soft, his eyes sleepy. 

But he doesn't. Just gives him a soft look — not a smile, but something tender around the eyes — and strokes up the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Bedtime, I think," he says in a tone that brooks no argument, nudging Jon just a little and then uncoupling.

He stands, pauses a moment to run a hand through his hair, trying and failing to catalogue whatever's happening within him. For all his emotional intelligence, Elias usually has too much, too many people, to be truly introspective. Then he decides not to worry too much about it (his continuing strategy for mental wellbeing throughout his whole life) and goes to get ready for bed.

(Guess who has an actual skincare ritual it's this motherfucker.)

 

Jon blinks blearily, up at Elias and has a similar thought. He hadn't kissed anyone in years, the closest thing being a peck Georgie gave him on the forehead when she cheekily forced him to get some sleep a couple weeks ago. He could kiss Elias, wouldn't mind it, probably would soon given this charade. Would Elias want to practice that? The thought makes his lips quirk in faint amusement. Something in Elias' look is-

Jon blinks again, forcing a degree of wakefulness as he pulls himself from the couch. With the contact gone it's easier to get awkward again, though thankfully the lingering effects keep any fullblown paranoia or panic from manifesting. He tries not to think of what a bad idea getting attached to Elias was, tries to convince himself he was just... he just needed some contact, that was all. It was completely normal, he hadn't had anything tender like that in longer than he wanted to admit and... and it made him a little touch-drunk. Perfectly normal. Perfectly reasonable and justified.

("Lord, how many of these do you have?" He will say when he takes his own turn in the bathroom, eying the lotions and whatnot for that routine. There's something dangerously close to fondness at the quirk. He doesn't notice, thankfully.)

His pajamas, as it turns out, are an old college tshirt with holes near the hem from age and a pair of comfortable pajama pants. Yes, how low class can you even get, Jon, for such a fussy motherfucker. Part of him pointedly packed it just because he knew Elias would roll his eyes about it, internally if not externally.

He sits on the bed, that awkwardness creeping up his spine. He should not be looking forward to this. Distract with questions. "When do you usually get up?"

 

A lot, he has a lot of stupid face stuff. Appearances are important, okay, and this body isn't getting any younger. This is probably also why he's judging Jon's sleepwear, albeit quietly.

For his own part Elias wears trunk briefs, and, like, nothing else (well, to bed - when he's getting up, that's what dressing gowns are for) but he takes some measure of pity on Jon and wears one of his sleeveless undershirts.

"Sixish," Elias says, untucking the well-made bed and climbing in, watching Jon calmly, waiting until he's close enough to reach for and start the whole slow process of tucking him close all over again. "I get up on my own, but I can wake you whatever time you'd like." Your own personal alarm clock, Jon.

 

He just want to be comfortable, Elias, give him a break. He would thank Elias for wearing a shirt if he knew, which is probably obvious given he's hesitating by the bed now. The problem with time is that it allows thought, and thought had a way of reminding Jon of a great many things he didn't want it to. 

Jon manages though, climbs in and does the song and dance of tensing then relaxing once he's in Elias' grip. Practice, he reminds himself, shifting so he can feel Elias' heartbeat like he did before. Again the whole process lulls him into being able to drop his concerns, for the moment at least. 

"Sixish is fine. I have a statement of Gertrude's to go over." Statement days were always fun. Georgie called too, wanted to check in and all that. Plenty to do. 

He regards his hand on Elias' chest, the fabric of the shirt much thinner than his suit. Jon tries not to be distracted by that. (He fails.) "... when are we telling the others? I assume they'll need to believe this for it to work."

 

The other thing about doing this lying down is that it becomes more of a whole-body embrace: one of his feet is resting lightly on Jon's ankle, and the hand that isn't around Jon's shoulders is this time over his hip, toying idly with one of the holes in the hem of his shirt, thumb occasionally brushing skin.

Elias' eyes are closed, but he still sounds clear and awake when he answers, his heartbeat an even cadence. "If it were all real, when would you want to?" he asks, since that's the way they have to think about it, how to make this seem like a natural germination of a long process rather than something they agreed upon today. But Elias is a master of false details. "Perhaps I can inform HR and simply let the watercooler gossip work its magic. You can address your assistants as you wish."

 

The question pulls him back to himself, because of course this is somehow still nice and he's shifting closer without thinking. He really needs to think, he knows that. This shouldn't be so easy and kind. "I can barely figure out if I want to tell them anything at all, let alone I'm suddenly married to the 'evil boss.'"

He sighs, closing his eyes and focusing on the heartbeat. "I'd feel the need to tell them myself, because I'd feel I was betraying them by doing this. They'll probably believe I am." He's not sure they'd be wrong, if it was true. "I'd want to salvage what I could from their reactions, though I doubt any but Martin will be salvageable. Hell, maybe even Martin will finally lose his patience."

 

"You're not," says Elias firmly, squeezing him a little tighter. He sounds certain about it. "You — wouldn't be. It's not us versus them, Jon, they're a vital part of the Institute." If they weren't, they'd be able to leave, he doesn't say.

His hand slides down between Jon's shoulderblades and presses there like he can press the tension out of him with one touch of his spine. "Martin, though... I would be _most_ concerned about Martin, if you're going to allocate them any concern at all. I imagine he'll be heartbroken."

 

"They won't see it that way," Jon points out, resisting the urge to shift so he can look to Elias' face. "You're the enemy to them, you know. At least in some way. You're their captor, after all." 

That one touch helps more than it should, and his back arches slightly into it, easing. He's not sure if the ease is relaxation or defeat. "Heartbroken? Why would you say that?" He asks, trying to figure out Elias' meaning like the fool he is. "Knowing him he'll probably assume you're blackmailing me or something. He always did give me too much credit."

 

"Don't tell me you don't know," Elias says flatly, and Jon's fluid reaction to his firm fingers is enough to have him shift them, following the muscle down the length of his spine as far as he can angle his forearm without disturbing either of them, and then back up again. There's Jon's shirt in the way, but it's verging on a massage, just because he likes the way Jon melts into him when he does it.

But it's obvious that Jon does not, in fact, know. Half the office knows, but Jon is oblivious. Elias sighs. He's more aggrieved by this than the accusations of being the enemy.

"Martin," he says (slowly, so Jon can keep up), "Has been in love with you, I don't know, possibly since the first interview."

 

Jon can't help but exhale in something far too close to contentment at Elias' actions, something that ruins the way he'd prefer to react to that first statement with a more irritated response. Apparently it's easy to put up with Elias' flat remarks if Elias is distracting with a pseudo massage during them.

He rolls his shoulders, not quite registering the remark until he does. The reaction is pretty immediately obvious, given all the muscles in his back go rigid. He doesn't pull away but he does finally move just enough to try and look at Elias properly. "That's... it's completely preposterous! Just because he's- I treated him like a _nuisance_ when he first started. There's no way anyone could find that attractive."

 

"Your guess is as good as mine as to why," Elias agrees. His eyebrows are raised a little, and he looks, yes, smug. Startling Jon with information will never get old, however innocuous the information is. "Perhaps your ability to flay a man alive with disdain is part of the appeal. Some people like that sort of thing."

Not Elias, of course. Certainly not him.

He does something unfair to Jon's neck. "You'd think, given it's been years, he would have gotten to known you some and gotten over it, wouldn't you?" he muses. "But I think he still holds a bit of a torch. Ever an optimist, Martin."

 

Jon wants to be irritated with him but he now that the information is out there he can see Elias is likely right. Admittedly Elias was almost always right about this sort of thing, being an agent of a being focused on _seeing everything_. Still, that aside Jon can see it himself despite his reservations. The looks, the constant and unwavering kindness, the way he'd get flustered at a kind word- hell, no one was as patient with him as Martin was. 

He slumps back into his former position, even though he's pretty sure he should push away now in indignation if nothing else. "Lord, how did I never- it doesn't matter. Maybe this is for the best in some small way then. He shouldn't- he's better off letting that go entirely."

Jon could barely come to terms with being near the others, let alone something romantic. Maybe this would let Martin give up that idea properly. Even if Jon felt anything- and yes, that is not something he wants to consider at all, even the 'what if' - acting on it would only hurt Martin in the end. Possibly kill. Probably kill. In a way he's grateful for Elias being an unfair bastard, it was easier to shiver and focus on that then this.

 

"I agree," says Elias, with just the barest note of possessiveness in his voice. "Safer for both of you, in the long run." Maybe another man would be more sympathetic, to either party, but all Elias can think is that Jon isn't meant to have those kinds of connections with the mortal world. Assistants, yes. Allies, absolutely. Friends? Jon barely has friends, but those he does have will likely have an encounter with something terrible sooner or later. Elias is fine with Jon having companions for as long as they manage to survive. But love... love gives too much away, and Jonathan Sims doesn't have enough his own to offer.

Elias is perfectly happy to demand his attention be here, though, between both of them, with nothing more than clever fingers now against bare skin. "Besides, only an absolute reprobate would take advantage of a subordinate," he murmurs, something teasing in his tone. (It's him, he's the reprobate.) He looks down at Jon, watching the hints of expression on his face like little ripples in a pool disturbed deep beneath the water. "This all right?" he checks, mostly because he wants to hear the assent.

 

Elias echoing his thoughts has a sinister shade to it, both making the decision feel sound and like an inevitability despite how he may feel. At the very least it makes it easier to accept however painful, the necessity in staying clear of the others. If he was always to be knee deep in this horror story the only safe shore was most certainly not at his side, not unless you knew the waters. Like Elias. 

He shudders, a little too caught in the sudden melancholy of the situation for awkwardness or self reproach at doing so. "A reprobate..." he mutters, a humourless sort of mirth and a caught breath. His thoughts are blessedly silent as he nods in response. "Yes," and when he thinks back maybe he'll tell himself he just wanted to see what he was assenting to. A true agent of the Beholding, letting the situation continue to see how it would play out. It has just enough truth that maybe it would hold up.

 

Certainty washes over Elias, that he could roll and pin Jon to the mattress right now and he'd still be saying yes. He ignores it, because it's not strictly true — this is something they're playing at, temporarily, however good it feels. So instead of that Elias just hums, fingers sliding up into Jon's hair to rumple it.

"Good," he murmurs. Then he sets to work — Elias Bouchard is nothing if not diligent these days — at drawing out every last scrap of tension and ache from Jon's shoulders that he can possibly reach. His other hand even slides up and joins in, until Jon is sweetly limp. Elias kisses his forehead, this time, just briefly. "Sleep, Jon," he instructs.

 

If Jon was in a clearer state of mind he may have been impressed. Elias' actions were shockingly kind, not just the result but the inarguable truth Jon couldn't deny, that there was a lot more Elias could have taken from that agreement if he so pleased. Later maybe he'll realize as much, agonize over it as he tends to when it comes to Elias' shows of compassion, try to weed out if there was any sincerity in it or it was all more honey to trap the flies.

At the moment though it's more than easy just to enjoy this, melt into Elias' fingertips more readily than before and most certainly not think of Martin or missed opportunities. Hell, he's relaxed enough not to immediately and awkwardly stifle any sounds he makes, sighs or soft groans. When Elias kisses his forehead he's already half asleep as it is, boneless and blinking owlishly at the command.

Which he follows, turning to shift into Elias' space and press into his side. If everything before wasn't enough just having someone warm and solid beside him is clearly enough to help him sleep, something he'll realize with a touch of surprise tomorrow. Until then enjoy your Archivist, arm loosely around your middle, Elias. Hope you don't mind cuddling.

 

Elias watches him for a little while, fascinated by the ink-smudge of Jon's lashes and movement of his dreaming eyes behind delicate lids; the slow relaxed breathing of his sleep. Eventually Elias closes his own eyes and joins him, though he sleeps like the dead, still and composed.

 

When the sun rises, he opens his eyes like that was nothing more than a long blink, and then proceeds to murmur, "Archivist. Jon." to bring him awake too. Elias is still not sure how he feels about cuddling, so he's extracting himself — but watching Jon blink into the morning all unshaven and sleepy-vulnerable is filed carefully away with some other memories Elias keeps as precious. (Saved to the hard drive and not the cloud, as it were.)

But he doesn't linger — once he's done his alarm clock duties he goes to shower and dress, make coffee. Still inoculating, he touches Jon spontaneously, brushes of the hands or a light press to the small of his back, adjusting his collar idly.

 

Jon isn't as graceful in his waking, blinking groggily and mumbling half awake nonsense and loosely grasping at Elias' shirt before finally starting to sit up when Elias leaves. There's plenty to sit and contemplate, like how this was the best sleep he's had in... he really didn't know. Years? It sounds so dramatic but it's true, as much as he wants to deny it. He also woke with a feeling of safety that was both unfamiliar and entirely foolish. Sharing a bed with a murderer was not safe, even if he didn't have to worry the same way about waking up to wax monsters, to doors that shouldn't be and never were, to the cloying smell of sawdust and cloves. 

He sighs, rubbing his face and forcing himself up, trying to just enjoy the comfortable feeling still lingering in his muscles and skin. He gets ready as he used to, back when decorum mattered more to him, shaves and showers and dresses, and heads into the living area. If he was going to tell the others today was going to be the day, and it was not going to be a pleasant one. He worries over it as he gets coffee, startled out of the reverie when Elias continues his... practice. The first time Jon's surprised enough to look questioningly before remembering, the rest go much more smoothly.

Well, he thinks with a dry edge, at least he isn't jumping quite the same way. Elias' conditioning worked better than it should have. (He also likes it more than he should, and in the light of day it's harder to ignore that. It really is.)

Jon takes to regarding Elias instead of his own concerns, watching his morning routine with vague interest. He even lets out an almost breathless huff as he leans against a counter, coffee in hand. "Aren't we just domestic already. Sure you don't want that omelet I offered ages ago?" He asks, tone quite dry.

 

Elias considers: they have time. He likes to be up early, the early morning one of his favourite times of the day, but doesn't always _go in_ early, and he has nothing scheduled. "Yes," he decides, taking the offer entirely seriously despite Jon's tone, "I'd like that."

Make him food, Jon. Elias is just going to perch unhelpfully on a stool and watch him move.

 

Jon's brow raises when Elias takes him seriously, leaving him to exhale in amusement and put his coffee down. "I should have known," he says to himself, of course Elias would. Well, it wasn't a problem by any means. Back before his steady descent into chaos making an omelet in the morning was just another part of his routine.

This entire morning felt like mornings used to, before he became Archivist or shortly after. He'd never been in more danger yet here they were, playing at peace. He considers that as he sets things up, getting the ingredients and pan, lighting the stove. Had he ever felt this peaceful at Georgie's? He wonders this as he cracks the eggs, not expertly by any means but at least he seems to know what he's doing. He's nothing if not methodical and entirely by the recipe down to the last ounce. 

No, not at Georgie's, even in their light hearted moments he was filled with a dread of some kind. It was likely tied to his presence being a direct danger to her, he could never quite forget it. 

Being deep in thought while cooking is probably not the smartest thing, and really did tend to be the reason he wasn't the best cook. In this case the food is fine but he nearly burns himself reaching over, pulling his fingers away just in time. Well. Time to pay attention. "I'm making them with tomato and cheese, is that acceptable?"

 

"It is," says the world's least picky eater (I mean, Elias probably wouldn't eat candy wrappers but only by a hair's breadth.)

Jon is a distracted but precise cook, and Elias really likes just observing his hands doing things, watching him bring life to a space that is typically barren of it. When he pours his egg mixture the kitchen fills with the smell of it, and for a moment Elias remembers — 

"My nanny used to make omelets when I was a boy," he reflects, not letting nostalgia colour his tone. Still, it's the first information about himself he's volunteered without being press-ganged by Jon's insatiable curiosity.

 

Jon nods, starts chopping the tomato with a little more focus now. Suddenly he rather wants the omelet to be all right, maybe to prove some sort of point to Elias. He didn't know what that point was or why he cares, but at least it drives him not to burn anything.

He's putting the cheese on when Elias speaks, the random information startling him. Just given away, no compulsion, no questions or verbal chess games or exchanges. He realizes it's been a while since someone just told him something for the sake of telling him and not any other reason.

And he's interested, for some reason. Probably his general interest in the more human aspects of Elias. He has to huff a breath though. "I am not the least bit surprised you had nanny, you're so damn posh," he answers, and again is somewhat alarmed there may be fondness in his tone.

Just a symptom of last night, nothing else, obviously. "Any particular kind? It's not too late to change from tomato and cheese."

 

"Tomato and cheese is fine," Elias reassures him. He doesn't particularly remember the specifics, just the smell of it, the egg cooking, his nanny humming, Elias sitting at the table too small for his legs to do anything but swing.

He isn't bothered by the accusation of being posh, just smiles a little, somehow equally fond of Jon's continuing attitude towards his background. It's a nice change from intimidated. "Anyway, you grew up in Bournemouth," he points out (of course he already knows this, you put it in a statement, Jon.) "That's hardly cheap. I bet you went to the seaside whenever you liked." Though he can't... really imagine Jon at the beach, somehow.

 

Jon can't help a huffed laugh at that, shaking his head as he slid the tomatoes on. "Please, and mingle with the obnoxious tourists crowding the shore? Even if the beaches were clear my grandmother wasn't really the type for beach outings." He answers, reaching for the spatula, lips quirking slightly. "To be fair I wandered there a few times when I was young without her. Not to swim, of course, just to explore."

He folds the omelet, struck by how actually domestic this suddenly was, or probably was since they woke up. Good practice, he supposes. "Where did you grow up anyway? London?"

 

"Sussex," says Elias, chin on his hand, "And Normandy. Ferried from one side of the Channel to the other. We were a house divided, as it were." It's getting easier to just tell Jon things, with no playful talking around his past, no mystery. There's several childhood stories he could tell that belonged to other people, and they get tangled in his brain sometimes, but the Archivist cuts through them neatly and there's just Elias.

But rather than talking about, ugh, his family, he sits up straighter and continues: "Though I went to boarding school quite young, so not much of either. Then an Oxford prep in fifth form, then Oxford, then miserable failure, then Magnus." He makes a little gesture like the pulling back of a bowstring to his shoulder, releasing. An arrow flying towards the Institute.

 

All the information is interesting, and again Jon can feel curiosity begin to claw incessantly at him. Why was his family divided? When was this supernatural experience? _What_ was it? He actually struggles with it a moment, for the first time wondering if it really was whatever made him the Archivist clawing rather than the curiosity he had his whole life. 

"I can't imagine a family of that social class would be thrilled you decided to work at the Institute. Reality aside, we don't exactly have a sterling reputation. I had more than one professor tell me not to waste my time." He decides on this, less a question and more an observation rather than grilling Elias out of the blue. At least he was trying, in some small way, to be manageable.

He slid the now completed omelet onto a plate, pulling a fork out of a drawer when he finally found it, and placed it in front of Elias. "There you are. No complaints, I make no claims of excellence in the cooking department. Should be edible."

 

Instead of elaborating further on his life, Elias takes the fork and neatly bisects the omelet with it, two triangle(ish) shapes. "You are planning on having some, I hope," he says, and it could just be a habitual paranoia, about someone poisoning his food. Could be, isn't. 

Still, he may regret sharing once he actually slices himself a forkful and tries it, eyes fluttering shut as he tastes it, savoury and nostalgic. "This is good," he says quietly, finally opening his eyes again to look at Jon. There's sincerity there. "Thank you."

 

"Hm? Oh, I suppose." Jon hadn't considered that. Probably should have made another, the idiot. He considers it, shockingly not assuming Elias is poison testing his food. "Could just make another, if you prefer. Not rocket science and all."

He's inordinately pleased when Elias not only enjoys the omelet but says as much. His lips quirk, taking a seat with his coffee and a fork of his own. "You're welcome. It's a bit strange to be going back to routine, I used to make an omelet before work when I had the time." He rubs his jaw, freshly shaven, and shakes his head. "Been a while since I've shaved before it was getting irritating not to as well."

 

Elias shifts the plate over slightly, so obviously there isn't going to be a second omelet, they're just going to split this one.

When Jon smiles at the praise Elias feels something, sharp and loud just because his emotions usually aren't. He swallows around nothing, watching Jon's fingers on his jaw before lifting his own hand and touching it himself, the new softness of it, a little raw. It's an intimate gesture.

"I quite like the stubble," he admits, and then takes his hand away again to focus on the food, tries to fluster Jon to hide his own ripple of emotion. "But I'm sure your fiance will appreciate not being sandpapered."

 

Well that certainly works in the fluster department, because Jon jolts slightly. He exhales, annoyed at himself for still getting surprised over it and, of course, exasperated at Elias. Certainly still flustered because 'not being sandpapered' implied the fact they would inevitably need to work on kissing and all that. _Work on kissing_ , everything was ridiculous.

"Well my fiance better watch it or the stubble can certainly come back," he grumbles, trying to ignore his quip basically cemented that intimacy happening in the future. He stabs at his half of the omelet. "Are you going to tell them today? No sorry, turns out I'm marrying your first choice in binding ritual fodder. Sure they'll enjoy hearing that."

 

Elias laughs softly to himself as he continues to devour his omelet. "I'm sure they _won't_ ," he agrees, though he thinks he might. There is a distinct joy in the manoeuvring he'll have to do here to let the Lukases down without angering them, to make it seem like disappointment was inevitable rather than premeditated — and of course to flex his power, just slightly. The Archivist is mine, what do you plan to do about it?

"But yes. It starts today. I'll let you know how it goes." He seems to have a pretty certain grasp on the timeline of likely outcomes, though, which is probably why he doesn't seem to have any trepidation. 

True to his word, after a long day of seeding rumors and talking with HR and the Lukases, he comes by Jon's office, ignoring the stares of the assistants. Closes the door behind him and tweaks the blinds shut. "Well, it's all happening. Give them a couple of days to investigate, and I don't doubt I'll have visitors on my doorstep — our doorstep, I suppose."

 

Jon glances up from his desk as Elias comes in, considerably less relaxed looking than he was this morning. There's a defeated strain to his shoulders that probably tells Elias everything he needs to know about how the others handled this news.

("It's..." Martin's tone makes it all so obvious now, blatant in a way that has Jon wondering again how he could have missed it. Shocked, unnerved, but the edge of heartbreak, that's what really rings in it. Martin lowers his voice like they could actually keep secrets here. "Are you... is Elias um- is Elias blackmailing you? Jon, you don't have to- we can-"

"No, Martin, it's my choice," Jon answers, words thankfully firm in his own ears. Basira's watching quietly, hasn't said a word. Melanie looks torn between shock and anger.

Tim though, Tim laughs flatly. "Yeah sure. Choice. What is it, Jon, you thinking fucking Elias will keep you safe?"

" _Tim_ ," Martin tries, but Jon's not remotely surprised when Tim doesn't bat an eye.

"It's true. Maybe he thinks Elias won't send him the way of ol' Gertrude this way. Doesn't matter though, and you know it. We're all going to be going her way sooner or later. It's what this damned place does."

"Oh for god's sake, give it a rest," Melanie snaps, turning to Jon sharply. "Why?"

"What? I don't need to-"

" _Why_?" Melanie insists, and Jon lets the rest of the sentence die on his tongue. They're all staring at him with varying expressions. Martin and Basira are the only ones who don't look angry, yet they're the hardest to look at. Basira for her intense, probing gaze and Martin-

Jon exhales. "Tim's not entirely wrong, at least about our situation here being... difficult. Dangerous. I want something while I have the chance to have it. That's all." He knows it won't be enough but he picks up the file Martin had handed him before this all began, tucking it under his arm and turning. "I'm not expecting you to change you minds about him or what he's done, I haven't. I just- I wanted to tell you all rather than have you hear it down the grapevine."

"Jon-" He thinks that's Martin but whoever it is doesn't catch him as he retreats to his office. They don't follow, and he's thankful for it, even if it leaves a heavy pit in his gut.)

"Did they react as you expected?" Jon asks, rubbing his face a moment before lowering his glasses back over his eyes to regard Elias again. "Well, I suppose it's time to make sure we're ready, if we only have a couple of days to do so. What exactly does one do when they entertain the Lukas family?"

Nothing short of the sort of creepy nonsense he heard of the group, he's sure. He can't imagine having to sit down to dinner with them, it was so strangely mundane compared to the air they gave off in statements. Of course Elias was an expert of treating bizarre situations with unbelievable composure, Jon thinks with a sigh. If only he himself were so lucky.

 

Elias comes 'round the desk and perches on the edge alongside Jon's chair, leaning a hand back and managing to unerringly find, without looking, a clear place to put it. 

"My entire flat is practically designed to entertain the Lukas family and people like them," Elias says a little dryly. "They expect ostentatiousness; I'll provide it. Oh, and of course, we'll have to make a sacrifice..."

He pauses, looks at Jon, and then laughs suddenly. "I'm only kidding, Jon. They're a dour lot, but they're for all intents and purposes just titled businessmen — well. There are certainly family offshoots with their own hobbies and predilections, but we'll likely be hosting Nathaniel, who's ordinary enough. Dour, emotionless, but easily manipulated and not particularly a threat. Maybe even less of a monster than I am."

He seems amused by this self-assessment, or maybe he's just teasing. Then suddenly he cocks his head to the side, distracted. "Your assistants are debating whether they should make up an excuse to burst in, you know. I think Tim hopes I'll fire him."

 

Jon actually does glance sharply over at that, squinting until Elias laughs and he shakes his head, the eye roll very much in his tone if not his face. "You're hilarious." Extremely, extremely dry. "Frankly that's something of a relief then, if that's all they'll need. What will you need from me? Besides the obvious act we're putting on."

Probably something like 'don't use compulsion on the guests, don't ask ten thousand questions.' Despite his somewhat sour mood he exhales in amusement. "I assume it will be the typical 'be more lovely.' Like that's ever worked out." In this case it was a little more dire than annoying random statement givers though.

The comment about the others startles a scoff out of Jon, making him shake his head as he turns his gaze to the door. "He thinks I'm trying to seduce my way into your good graces. Frankly they handled it better than I thought." Besides Martin, but he's not going to say anything about that. Not to Elias.

 

"I'll need you to behave yourself," Elias says, which, yes, includes being somewhat respectful and not Archivisting at them all the time. But he can lay out a clearer prescription of behaviour later. Right now, he's still a little distracted, apparently one ear on the office outside.

"The fact that Tim thinks my good graces can be seduced explains quite a bit about a meeting we had a couple of months ago," Elias remarks with distant amusement. Then he turns his attention back to Jon. He's got that look he gets, where he isn't smiling but his eyes are laughing. "I was going to ease you into this," he says apologetically, and then does a lot of things at once: pushes Jon's glasses up into his hair with one hand, leans down and grabs a handful of his shirt with the other, and kisses him, sharp and brief, biting his lower lip hard. 

The door opens just as Elias drops Jon back into his chair and stands, unflappable, and breezes out past Tim before he can even try and get out his excuse. "See you at five," he says as he goes.

 

"What meeting?" Jon can't help but immediately question, even with a tendril of compulsion without meaning to. He can't help it, the spike of curiosity and alarm (and irritation at the idea of Tim making some seduction attempt on Elias, a feeling he very much does not want to investigate further.) 

He's still struggling with that when Elias strikes, another question half formed on his tongue and completely crushed under the onslaught. There isn't time to do much but react, and his reaction is a sound he is in no way proud of but likely helped the entire spectacle. 

Jon blinks rapidly when he's deposited back into his chair, too dazed to immediately lay into Elias like he should. Of course his head betrays him as it always does, alarmed that his immediate reaction wasn't anger or disgust or something understandable and safe. What he felt was in no way safe, and he unconsciously runs his tongue over his sore lower lip as he stares at the door and-

And Tim. There's the anger at Elias, the damned smug prick. He shoves his glasses back down and tries to straighten his shirt quickly. "Tim, do you need something?" His tone is not breathless, thanks, he refuses to even imagine a world where it was.

Tim just looks him over, then leans to watch Elias' retreating form, then snorts. "Jesus Jon, I always thought you seriously needed to get laid but Elias?" 

"Goodbye, Tim," Jon stands, hoping that comment would be enough to banish him. It never was.

"I mean he's hot for a fucking psychopath. Least there's that." Tim drawls, then stares Jon down a moment. When he speaks again it's an echo of the friendship they once had, or at least the time when there was a level of trust between them, and something in Jon aches. "You sure about this?"

Jon nods, resisting the urge to lick his bottom lip again. "I am."

Tim stares a beat longer then shrugs, turning away with that same, hopeless humour, like there was nothing for a dead man walking to laugh about but he was going through the motions out of muscle memory. "Guess you're right, might as well take what we can get, right?"

He leaves and Jon sighs, slumping back down into his chair and giving in to the urge to lick his lower lip again.

A little before five he makes his way to Elias' office, eager to get away from the others and their probing glances. Martin's forlorn look was killing him, and the rest weren't terribly better. He knocks once before letting himself in, too annoyed for formalities.

"I could _peel you_ for that," he says without any greeting as he closes the door behind him. "Is it impossible for you to warn me of anything? Don't pretend you couldn't have, and I know you enjoyed it, you smug prick."

 

Elias doesn't look abashed or regretful in any way shape or form, though he's mostly curbing all the smug prick as he packs up his briefcase. Mostly. There's something about Jon's annoyance that is always going to make him feel bright and pleased.

"Let's not start throwing accusations of enjoyment around, Jonathan," he says pointedly, because there is a _lot_ that could be said there. He closes the case, latches it. "It was more convincing that you were genuinely startled — I needed you to looked thoroughly walked-in-on."

And thoroughly kissed, which he thinks he'd done quite a good job of considering how short a time he'd had, not quite able to banish the image of Jon all breathless and flushed with his mouth bitten red.

 

Jon's shoulders tense at the word 'enjoyment,' and though he gives Elias a withering look he wisely doesn't go further. Elias wasn't wrong, the bastard, and Jon hopes against hope Elias didn't somehow know he had been thinking about that moment since Elias left. 

"Well, I suppose you're proud of yourself. The looks I've gotten outside the Archives on my way here probably mean word has gotten out." He wonders if someone told Rosie, that would explain it. She certainly had her pulse on the gossip of the building, something he expected from a secretary of Elias'. "Let's just go, I've gotten next to nothing done today with all the nonsense going on. I hope the Lukases are happy with how much they've been delaying me."

Complain, complain. He'll likely be his typical grumpy self on the car ride home as well, which would mean a bad mood for most people but for Jon it's actually rather indicative of the opposite. Besides some unavoidable unpleasantness (Martin, the assistants, life in general) he couldn't help feeling rather well for the first time in a while. Strange, huh.

When they get home (he tries not to think of it as such, when this all was over clearly Elias would expect him to go anyway) he shrugs off his coat and hangs it up, wondering the bizarrely mundane thing of whether he should get new clothes soon or not. He sighs, clearly his life is nonsense if he thinks something so mundane is bizarre.

 

Elias tends to find Jon's grumpiness charming and always has; it's why he's been so exasperatedly lenient about the way Jon treats nearly everyone who comes to give a statement. So he just listens to him complain through the drive back, hums polite listening noises when appropriate. It's companionable, and doesn't get less so throughout the evening. The fairies have been again, when they get back, cleaning up the kitchen and leaving a dinner for both of them in the fridge; probably his housekeeping was surprised to have cooking added to their list of duties, having assumed he lived mostly off whiskey and the souls of the damned or something.


	3. first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one earns the Explicit rating.
> 
> Content includes: Kissing, Biting, Necking, Blowjobs, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Orgasm Delay/Denial.

Elias spends the evening giving Jon a variety of information about the Lukases, their names, their domain, the alliance with the Eye, both parties being a fan of observation rather than interference. Talks about their investment in shipping companies and their rivalry with the Fairchilds over the great dark nothing of the sea. His reasoning for being forthcoming, he explains, is out of the hope that Jon will manage to keep his questions to himself while they visit.

So it's not until they're getting ready for bed that Elias says: "I know I was quite abrupt, earlier. By necessity, I assure you. But we are going to have to— be more used to kissing."

 

The information is surprising but welcomed, and Jon certainly sits intently and listens, throwing the occasional question out but mostly going into a semi Archivist-mode of data absorbing. He offers some musing out loud, connections to other statements, things he didn't notice about the Lukas statements without this new information, etc. He may not realize it himself but it's fairly clear the Archivist part of him is somewhat sated by it all.

That doesn't stop him from mentioning there's nothing wrong with offering to take a statement when they were there. They could say no, he wouldn't compel them. (Probably.)

So he's in a somewhat good mood as he gets ready for bed, mostly consisting of changing and teeth brushing. He's done with both when Elias makes the comment, and his back tenses though he at least doesn't freeze. He has been expecting this.

"I... know," he sighs, glancing over with a furrowed brow. "Another thing to practice, I take it?" He feels strange about this, apprehensive as to be expected but-

Well, it didn't matter. It had to be done.

 

"Yes." It's probably not surprising; Elias had said he wanted to ease Jon into it, even if the moment had called for that surprising clash, Elias all teeth. 

He's a little apprehensive himself, though maybe not for the same reasons, and he refuses to let it show on his face. Instead he just — takes himself to bed. It's an intimate place to be kissing, but it means he can take his time trying to relax Jon into it before it happens — starting, as always, with gentle touches to his arms before he tucks him in close.

 

Jon pauses at the bed at first, struck with the thought he should probably thank Elias for his patience. The entire situation's ridiculous, and Elias has hardly been perfectly good intentioned during it, but he certainly did nothing to make it harder than it needed to be. In fact he mostly made it much easier, somehow.

It's a little too much to say anything to that effect, and he instead he slides into bed. He expects the tension will be harder to lose this time, given what they were going to be doing, but the touches work just as well as they did yesterday. He marvels at it some extent, how incredibly nice such a simple thing felt. He wants to curl into Elias like he did before but he tries to keep their mission in mind, shifting so they're at least facing.

"Look, I'm-" he starts, awkwardness taking over though this time it's not Elias' direct fault. When he continues it's begrudgingly. "I'm not particularly _good_ at this sort of thing. Not a large amount of practice and it's been quite a while, so-" He has no idea why he feels he needs to warn Elias as much, but here they were.

 

Elias watches him across the pillow, then touches his cheek lightly, caresses along the cheekbone before cupping his jaw, just enjoying Jon's face. "I could give you some critique, if you like," he says laughingly, trying to break the tension a little, since Jon looks martyred. "Some pointers for future improvement."

Like a performance review, yes. He thinks he's funny.

 

Jon rolls his eyes, but that certainly breaks his embarrassment. The look's probably ruined by how he presses into Elias' palm. "I already regret attempting to warn you, how very typical," he mutters, reaching to push his glasses up since he's fairly certain they'll get in the way or at least be uncomfortable, given the position.

"And if it's anything like your performance reviews it wouldn't be very helpful." Good bedroom talk, snide work insults. He realizes he hasn't exactly touched Elias much and hesitates, reaching up to trace his thumb up Elias' jaw then swallowing. He lets his fingers brush against the ends of Elias hair behind his ear, still somewhat uncertain but curious. Elias always seemed - ha- untouchable in some way, more and more as things went along.

 

Well, Elias is certainly not untouchable now, watching Jon closely as fingers brush along his face. "I beg your pardon," he says with quiet mock-offense, because his performance reviews are excellent, thanks.

But he doesn't wait longer after that, anticipation whet to a sharp edge. He moves slowly, and the first kiss is so much more chaste than the one in Jon's office. Elias' mouth slants over Jon's, just a dry press, lingering while he lets Jon get used to it, feeling the soft brush of Jon's breath against his upper lip.

Then his fingers tighten on the side of Jon's face and he pushes forward, full body, kiss deepening. He's trying to hold back, leash the way he wants this, because it's just practice. But it has to seep through, in the hungry way he licks into Jon's mouth.

 

Jon's just getting confident in his exploration when Elias begins moving closer, a much different feeling than the impossibly fast shock of Elias' first kiss. It leaves Jon a chance to cup the side of Elias' jaw, his other clutching Elias' shirt. He's not as nervous about it as he thought he'd be, and he can't tell if Elias' approach is to blame or all this 'exposure therapy' they've been calling practice was working. Maybe his curiosity finally beat his nerves. Whatever the case he lets out a soft breath against Elias' lips before carefully pressing back.

He wasn't kidding when he said it had been a long time, and he nearly chuckles against Elias' mouth at how dazed such a simple action left him. Ridiculous, really, but not unpleasantly so. It's harder to think this way and he likes that. He really didn't want to think right now, though he's certainly conscious enough to wonder if Elias was still as calculating and focused even in this.

When Elias' fingers tighten and he moves Jon makes a soft sound, something that opens his lips and lets the kiss deepen into something not so simple and chaste. He tugs on Elias' shirt, as if that will bring him closer still, reacting not so much on instinct or memory but what felt best in the moment. He blessedly doesn't think a thing about how a kiss like this - how far Elias is taking it, how far Jon is pushing back - is most certainly not necessary for 'practice.' There was plenty of time to agonize over nonsense later, when Elias isn't so warm and lovely against him.

 

Jon pulls at his shirt, and Elias practically rolls half on top of him, pressing a knee between his thighs and a forearm to his shoulder. It's too fast, but he's been at a low simmer for some time now and — Jon isn't the only one for whom it's been a while.

So this isn't — practice. He could make a case for the intimacy of this likely to make them more convincingly at ease around each other in general... but Elias could make a case for a lot of things. Right now his silver tongue is mostly busy making demands of Jon's, however, kissing him thoroughly breathless. 

He pulls back, though, opening his eyes to look down at Jon, checking in again — or maybe he just wants to look at his Archivist all hazy and pink-lipped. "Not bad," he murmurs about an octave lower than he usually speaks, voice rough, pale eyes bright. "Might even go so far as to say you're a natural."

 

Jon makes a low sound in his throat as their positions change, leaning forward to make sure the kiss wasn't broken. His hand moves to Elias' back, the other running up the back of his neck. That same expensive smell he couldn't name is there, he thinks it must be part of that ridiculous skincare routine. It's sharp, whatever it is, and that suits Elias. At least he'd think so if his mind wasn't busy elsewhere, categorizing the sensations in a mercifully quiet haze.

He's nowhere near as aggressive as Elias, can hardly keep up with reactions really, but he finds himself pressing forward with his tongue when he has the chance, exploring. His lungs start to burn ever so slightly, and when Elias pulls back he gasps, catching his breath.

He licks his lips without thinking about, without thinking much at all besides he never really considered Elias' eye colour before it was so close. He shivers at that tone, ridiculously pleased with the knowledge he had some part in making the unflappable Elias Bouchard sound such a way.

Jon is so very far from unaffected and clinical, something he knew last night but is all the more impossible to ignore now. This wasn't practice. He should stop it right here and yet he just exhales, amusement in the sound. "Rather.... rather like riding a bike, I suppose."

He moves his hands, cupping Elias' face and taking in what details he could make out through the blur without his glasses. There's something greedy in the look, considering in how he traces Elias' hairline, thumbs what lines the skincare routine can't erase from the corner of his eyes. The exploration stops at Elias' lips, running over his bottom lip firmly, and he has the same bright eyed intensity he does when learning something new.

"Can we- we should do that again." He murmurs, more a question than it should be but questions were his forte.

 

It's not often anything breaks Elias' iron composure, it's true. Perhaps because he just knows so much, knows enough to make everything effortlessly predictable. But he didn't predict this, somehow, the way he heats through from Jon's willing mouth. The way Jon touches his face, soft and inquisitive. Elias's eyes are the kind of blue-grey that almost seems colourless, but there are minute golden flecks around his blown-wide pupils.

Elias' tongue slips out and brushes up the pad of Jon's thumb, playful and not remotely necessary. 

"Tell me if you need to stop," he decides, because— because his restraint is generally good, but Jon is becoming an exception to that rule. So he can't guarantee he's going to keep solicitously checking what he is and isn't allowed. (The fact that this really could have been just one simple kiss is irrelevant, at this point.) Then he proves his agreement with Jon's suggestion (request? remark?) by dipping down to kiss him again. 

This time there's teeth, but instead of biting hard they graze lightly over Jon's swollen lower lip, like a reminder. He isn't quite so devouring, either, drawing back for little sips of breath before taking Jon's mouth again and offering his own in turn. And when he does pull away it's not to stop, but because he wants to lick along the length of Jon's jaw, suckle a possessive mark into his neck. If they're going to do this properly he might as well leave some evidence.

 

Jon should know better than to nod to that, he's barely thinking as it is, how would he be clear-headed enough to know when to stop? But everything in his life lately has been horror and pain and death, just changes he can't stop and questions he can't answer and decisions he can't take back. Even this is mired in it, some power deciding to use him for its own whims, just another nightmare in the making. 

So why not? If things went too far, if he's making yet another bad decision he can't take back, if this all ends in horror and pain and death than it wouldn't be any different from the rest. Not then, at least. It's different here, and for some reason that _matters_ in ways he can't put a name to.

He inhales sharply at the hint of teeth, pressing forward rather than shying away as would be sensible. Every time Elias breaks the kiss for breath Jon can't help some sort of sound — a small gasp of air, a muffled groan, an embarrassing, needy note when it isn't quite enough. Turns out he's vocal in all this, who would have thought.

He certainly makes a sharper sound when Elias starts giving him a _hickey_ , and it is not one of protest by any means. Instead it's deep in his throat, followed by a breathless " _Elias_ -" as his hands claw Elias' back. There's certainly no asking to stop, even if he should know well this wasn't going to be something he could easily hide tomorrow. _All part of the act,_ he thinks with a sharp sort of humour.

 

Oh, he likes this. Wants badly to learn how to play Jon like an instrument, find out how to elicit each rising note in his voice, what makes his groans throatier or longer. How to make him whimper, or beg, or cry out — definitely, especially that last one.

"Mm," he hums against the skin of Jon's throat, and gives licky kisses until he finds another patch of skin that makes Jon shiver, marks him up again. Jon is just going to end up with an absolute string of little love-bites. On the other hand, given he's still only wearing a singlet, Elias thinks he might find scratches over his shoulders tomorrow. 

"Jonathan," he murmurs, all three syllables distinct, and distinctly smug. Presses their bodies together through the hips, weight bearing down, and then kisses him again like he's magnetically drawn back to Jon's mouth, buries his own soft groan there.

 

Oh yes he will be getting a few scratches, Jon isn't exactly paying attention to the force of his grip as he clutches Elias, drags his fingers down without thinking. He had never really had a partner who paid attention to his neck, he can't remember a time he ever had to hide love-bites with a high necked sweater and a bundle of nerves. As such it's certainly new information how much he likes it, the sharp sensation, skin marked raw then ghosted with lips and breath, the quiet anticipation of teeth brushing lightly against untouched skin. 

(There's something about the mark itself he'll probably enjoy later as well, nothing so graceless and unpleasant as Jude's burns or Prentiss' map of pocked scars. Not permanent, of course, but still a story pressed into his skin. A story he was rather fond of despite everything that told him he should not be.)

He rather likes hearing his name like that, the smugness enough to bring at least some semblance of thought back to his head as he tries to catch his breath. He finds he also likes Elias' weight more fully upon him, as embarrassing as it may be to shift when he is incapable of hiding just how wound up he was now. Elias' groan into the kiss hardly helps matter, it makes him shudder with the same, brief feeling of triumph that came whenever Elias gave something so small away. His lips quirk around the kiss, foggily pleased as his palms run up what will no doubt be angry red lines down Elias' skin.

_This can't last_ , his mind rather unpleasantly reminds him, making him stubbornly prolong the kiss until finally his head drops back for air alone. He blinks up at Elias, realizing with a sharpness in his chest he was rather fond of the man. He didn't hate this, this whole play at a relationship, at a mutual adoration that — ha, that was quite possible Elias could never truly reciprocate. 

It actually _hurts_ , as ridiculous as that is, and he wants desperately to laugh at himself for getting attached to self proclaimed monster then being even somewhat surprised that it hurt. He desperately wants to return the brainless haze of before so he presses up again — another kiss, shudder of breath and soft groan though slightly slower than before.

 

Elias can tell, when Jon suddenly starts to think too much again, when clarity comes back to his eyes and tension draws lines beside his mouth. If Jon had stopped them both there, Elias would have let him. But instead he leans up for another kiss — another choice in a long line of choices.

(Bad choices? Elias prefers not to cast moral judgement.)

Jon really isn't that bad a kisser, enthusiastic and curious being a good combination, and Elias is willing to let him lead for a little while even if that shifts the whole thing decidedly tender. He isn't surprised Jon likes it sweet, knows all too well how much heart the man has, but he's surprised at having that sweetness directed at him. He sort of thought — well, they can't deny there's a spark between them, but it's the sort that resolves in a rough clash, not Jon's mouth lingering soft over his.

Elias ruins it by biting him again, this time sharp enough that he tastes blood — and a burst of arousal kicks through him at the sharp metallic tang. He kisses Jon hard, pulls back with both their mouths bloody, gaze like a wildfire. Watches every minute detail of Jon's expression as he rolls his hips deliberately, grinds down where he's hard in his briefs like a reminder that they're really only separated by two flimsy layers of fabric right now.

"Ask me," says Elias, throaty, hungry, the tenderest of monsters, "And I'll give you whatever you need."

 

Jon takes that chance to explore Elias' mouth, to drive the kiss for what time he has in the same methodical way he does most things. He gasps into the sudden bite, and the taste of blood colouring the kiss should be a warning, a reminder. Instead it makes him shudder and press all the more up into Elias. The sting of pain is _nice_ , perhaps all the more because he damn well knows better.

He chokes on a sound as Elias grinds down, eyes fluttering as his hands gripped Elias' biceps. He stares up at Elias and thinks _ask_ is a dangerous word to use around an Archivist. He wonders if Elias was deliberate in that choice, wonders how that shiver Elias gives at compulsion would feel with his body pressed against Jon's. He doesn't know what he needs, what he _wants_ , mind still racing against the pleasant haze and backdrop of light, stinging pain at his lips.

Jon licks the blood from his mouth- he doesn't know what he wants but he does know what he wants to ask.

"What do you want, Elias?" Threading the compulsion into it is so easy, easier than it's ever been. "Tell me everything you want to do, how you'd do it."

 

There's the shiver he wanted: it ripples through Elias like he's a struck bell, and his eyes shut, and he drops his head, presses his face into Jon's neck with a muffled _mm_. It's obscenely intimate — he's not sure Jon even realizes how much. The Eye is hooked in to Elias' most vulnerable places. It's like doing confession kink with an ex-Catholic. At the same time, that was absolutely what Elias had meant when he told Jon to _ask_.

"More of that, for starters," he says firmly, which is an incomplete answer, but he needs a little time to collect himself. Steals it with a kiss, though it's a distracted one, resonant in both their mouths.

The compulsion doesn't work on him. It doesn't; it can't. The fact that when Jon uses it he always ends up giving too much of himself away is... it's psychosomatic, that's all. The placebo effect. Yet Elias is maybe more obsessed with the Archivist side of Jon than the human, and when he breaks the kiss he doesn't make Jon ask again.

"I want everything from you," he tells Jon, husky. "Everything. I want to bring you right to the brink of orgasm and leave you to beg. I want to turn you over and fuck you until you can't remember your own name. I want to use my mouth to make you come so much you can't anymore. I want to hurt you — I want to hurt you until pain is just another sensation, until your body feels meaningless and you're just," he draws a shaky breath, "Mine."

... Statement ends.

 

There was something so very addictive about answers, the warm spread of satisfaction of _knowing_. He's always realized as much, maybe unconsciously for most of his life but it was always there. The words from Elias may as well be physical the way they make him tremble and clutch tighter, the way he exhales in satisfaction when they end.

He knows this is where he should end things. It wasn't too late, not yet, he truly believes he could tell Elias it was enough now and they'd part. He could get away with telling himself he let it go a little too far out of curiosity, or the heat of the moment, of a touch of weakness. He could still salvage the excuse and rationale of _practice_ , as flimsy as it would be.

Of course he presses up instead, as if he can chase the end of that little statement down with his tongue. Elias tastes like blood now, his blood, and something about that is strangely lovely too. 

" _Please_ , Elias," he gasps against Elias' lips. When he speaks again the compulsion is back, sloppy and blunt, so similar to before he even knew it existed let alone any degree of control. "Show me."

 

Elias has a beautiful free-falling uncertainty at the end of that obscene little litany, having no idea whether Jon would flee all those hungry requests. And like the most beautiful surprise Jon begs. Permission and pleading and compulsion, all of Elias' favourite things. 

He kisses Jon gently, then, soft and fond, soothing that bitten lip. It's a sharp juxtaposition to his words, but he can't help it, Jon is just a rare creature sometimes, and Elias is weak to him like nothing else. He, too, isn't bothering with pretense right now.

"I like to think I have some talent in this area," he murmurs with immodest amusement, "But I don't think we physically could do all of that at once." Not without doing one of both of them an injury. The clip of his words could almost make him sound unflappable, but he's still all throaty and low. "Let's start," he decides, "By getting a little more undressed."

It's difficult to do when he doesn't want to make space between them, but he manages to give enough that he can pull Jon's terrible t-shirt off, push down his pajama pants far enough that he's got access to skin. Jon's all scars, and Elias goes for them like they call him, mouth tracing over every pucker Prentiss left in his shoulder.

 

"So modest," Jon manages, and of course he can't bring the usual dry delivery when he's breathless and too close to needy. He's not surprised Elias manages better but he is quite delighted at the low quality to his voice, a good an indication as any Elias isn't entirely unaffected. 

He raises his arms so Elias can pull the t-shirt off, a little too far gone for anything like his usual awkwardness. Of course he's just a damn mess of scars now, something he'd be far more self conscious about if his mind were clear, if it weren't Elias mapping the myriad of puckered scar tissue. The half curved lines of a broken sigil on his side healed well, now just dark red scarring between the worm scars. He thinks, rather foolishly in the haze, it wouldn't be so bad if Elias left his own marks.

His hands go to the bottom of Elias' shirt, pushing it up to run his his hands over skin. He's suddenly rather breathless with the thought of actually _seeing_ Elias, learning what scars or marks he might have, tracing them and _knowing_ them like a secret revealed. He's rather dizzy with the thought of running his hands over what marks he can find, compelling Elias for the story, drawing it out of him bit by bit as Elias shuddered in that lovely way he did when the compulsion touched his skin.

 

Elias pulls off his singlet willingly, lean and solid under Jon's exploring hands, and then skins off his briefs unabashedly too. He has one particularly obvious scar in a seppuku line across his abdomen, but Jon might have to wait to see it because Elias keeps following all of his Archivist's scars downwards, until he can tongue over the one in his side that he'd bandaged closed with his own two hands. He traces the interrupted pattern with devotion, tasting Jon's skin beneath his tongue. Leaves an indentation of teeth just above his hipbone, and just below his nipple.

He does actually have prophylactics and the like; as part of their fiction he had, at some point, purchased both condoms and lube, opened the box to look used, emptied half the bottle down the drain, all just more attention to detail. Despite that, and despite the fact that he really does just wants to ruin Jon with a thorough fucking, when he uncurls himself, rises, it's only because he wants to kiss Jon again. "I like your scars," he murmurs, so don't ever be self-conscious, Jon. Though Elias adds reflectively: "I'd like them better if they were mine."

So apparently they're on the same foolish page there.

He leans an elbow into the pillow next to Jon's head, goes up on one knee, fully over him now and looking down, his own thin mouth flushed from kissing and high colour in his cheeks, his cock hard along one thigh. It's rare for him to want something this much and he's nearly dizzy with it, with the collision of ordinary human arousal and the profoundly inhuman feelings of possessiveness and connection that Jon awakens in him. So well done, Jon, he's thoroughly unravelled and you've barely even touched him.

 

Jon tries to run his hands down Elias chest, taking in all of Elias with less embarrassment or awkwardness than he would have thought himself capable of. Of course Elias is too busy moving down for him to get to the scar, and of course chokes on a groan until he pulls his hand up to muffle the noises clawing up his throat. It doesn't help much, not even the cry at the teeth that is just a touch too high.

"Ah—" he answers to that, inhaling sharply. He wonders if Elias can read his mind sometimes, and the corner of his mouth quirks despite himself. "You did say something... something about the Eye and its' marks." _Elias_ ' marks. 

He stares at Elias, pupils blown and taking in the flush, the scratches he can see just barely peeking up Elias' shoulders. He reaches up, cupping Elias' jaw, running his thumbs over slightly swollen lips. He can feel Elias' cock hot against him and he shifts his leg up sharply, eyes never leaving Elias' face, eager to see more of him when he wasn't wearing an unflappable, smug mask. Eager to _see_ him. He's so goddamned hard himself it hurts. 

"What will you do next?" Compulsion again, he can feel the buzz on his tongue. "How do you feel?"

 

Elias can't tell if Jon is aware of what that's doing to him, if Jon even knows at this point that he's lacing his voice with that tingly compulsion, and he makes a shaky noise that isn't quite laughter, grinds against Jon's leg. All those dark promises of how he was going to take Jon apart and he's the one losing all his composure. Because of Jon and his stupid voice.

"Like I may have bitten off more than I can chew, with you," Elias answers, a little flirtatious, though the reference to biting is probably deliberate given how much he seems to like using his teeth. If he'd had to say what he thought this would be like, it would be Jon awkward and Elias in control, slowly coaxing. This isn't really like that at all, not when Jon looks up at him like he's as hungry as Elias is.

What's next, though, is Elias easing off mostly to one side and divesting Jon promptly of his pajama pants, still propped on one elbow as the other hand wraps around Jon's flushed erection. He looks down the length of them, sheets and clothes tangled around their legs, and strokes him attentively. "I've told you exactly what I'm going to do, Archivist," he murmurs, and it's true, he's given his warnings. So it shouldn't be a surprise when he figures out exactly how Jon likes to be touched and then uses that to bring him right to the brink, Elias' gaze intense as he searches for all the little indicators that Jon is close, close— 

And then stops, hand letting go, catching at Jon's wrist before he can finish himself off. Smug, smug asshole.

 

Jon breaths out, a little too proud of the fact he had managed to match Elias' pace at least to some extent. In truth he surprised himself, this is so very different from any sexual encounter he had in the past. It wasn't often his instincts with people led to anything good yet here he is, acting on urges alone and Elias looking down at him like that was _good_ , desirable even. It's a little heady.

He helps kick the pants off, flushing in the closest thing to embarrassment he's felt since they started but nowhere near enough to stop him from eagerly watching Elias move. The moment Elias grasps him his hand goes back up to his mouth, muffling himself again and shuddering. He's likely easy to read, more vocal the more he feels, going as far as biting into the numbed skin of Jude's scar to smother a particularly loud cry.

"E-Elias—" he pants, moving his hand away enough to speak and—

of course that's when Elias _stops_.

He does try to reach down, too wound up and impatient, and when he's thwarted he can't help but whine. "Y-you... you smug bastard," he should have known better, of course, Elias was only doing what he promised. (And yes, part of Jon is quite glad for that. " _Please_."

 

Elias brings his hand to his mouth by the wrist and kisses the palm, somehow more affectionate in the face of Jon's misery. "You're always so impatient," he murmurs, delighted. "Always heedlessly charging in after what you want. No, Archivist, I think you can wait."

He kisses Jon then, gentle, smooths a hand over his forehead and through his hair. "And stop covering your mouth," he instructs, eyes bright, "Or I'm going to tie your hands." Because he likes hearing Jon's noises, even when they're choked off or bitten back; wants him to humiliate himself with how loud he can get, how desperate. Not that anyone's going to hear, here, except Elias.

 

"This is... is not the time for a lesson in patience," Jon shoots back, still far too much of a whine to be taken seriously, even by himself. The kiss both distracts and appeases him, even is he rocks up into Elias as much as he can.

He swallows at that. "You look far too pleased at that idea." He couldn't say he hated it either, in all honesty, but he does want to be able to touch so he nods his understanding. "... fine, fine. Bossy bastard," he mutters, using that power of touch to trace Elias' collarbone and ignore his own trembling.

 

As per usual Elias seems unbothered by Jon's grumbled accusations: it's not as though Jon isn't deeply enjoying Elias bossing him around and generally doing whatever he wants with him. Still, he's not just going to let Jon insult him: "You're lucky I like that tongue of yours so much," he murmurs mildly, the sweetest of implied threats. 

But despite the mouth on him, Jon is being remarkably well-behaved, and Elias gathers him up and kisses him again, deeper this time. A return to exploring each other's mouths like they weren't rightin the middle of something. But once Jon has calmed down a little Elias reaches between his legs and strokes him, letting him muffle his noises between their mouths, working him right back up to the brink again— 

And then stops. Again. 

"Tell me," he says quietly, rubbing little circles over Jon's lower abdomen, pushing in a way meant to feel good but not good enough. "About the last time you touched yourself."

So, so bossy.

 

And a threat that shouldn't make him shiver for any other reasons than fear or discomfort, yet he does. 

Jon's kissing is hardly unrushed now, edged with tension and the heat pooling in him. Elias almost brings him back down to something truly calmer, but the moment he's close Elias begins _again_ and Jon leans so eagerly into it, even knowing it will end the same way. He shouldn't have wasted the chance to smother his noises that last round because this one has them keener and louder then before. Even into Elias' mouth it's not enough, and he occasionally breaks the kiss to gasp and give a shuddering cry.

And of course the stop again has him blinking back tears. He shuts his eyes tight, cursing Elias under his breath, nails once again digging into the skin of Elias' shoulders just for something to hold onto. He wonders briefly what Elias would do if he tried to touch him now. Probably make good on that tying threat.

"Damn you..." He gasps, trying to even remember. Even like this he flushes with embarrassment, the task not something that came easy. He had a feeling that was the point, that Elias enjoyed that slight edge of humiliation to the task. "It... after I got back from staying with you, in Georgie's bathroom while she was out. I— I wanted to, here, but I—" he squirms as though that could shift Elias' touch down, and huffs when it doesn't. "I felt— I couldn't, I thought you'd- you'd see."

 

Like this, Jon is a mess, sweaty and desperate and trying to make Elias give him more while still somehow accepting whatever he's given. It's beautiful and very human, and Elias can't stop kissing him and touching him, even if it's maybe not in the places Jon wants most.

The answer is good, too, though it makes Elias laugh against the flush risen on Jon's skin. "I probably could if I cared to," he agrees. "Or at least — I could know you were doing it." He doesn't bother spying like that, really, not on Jon and certainly not on anything as petty as masturbation, but he likes the idea of Jon thinking about it.

"I could do this all night, you know," he says, glancing down at where Jon is trying to get his hand again, letting it just brush incidentally across the sticky head before pulling away again. "I don't need to sleep, even if you do."

 

Oh did Jon know that, assumed as much. The idea of Elias making some off handed comment the next day about Jon relieving stress was too much for him then, and he resisted indulging. Admittedly even when he did it was more just to take the edge off these days, mind too wrapped up in the ridiculous and dangerous mysterious that surrounded them for giving in to the moment.

Not like _now_ , where Elias' words promised the possibility of this all night. It's as appealing as it is horrifying and he groans and tries again to touch himself despite the fact he knows Elias will catch him. 

" _Will_ you?" Compulsion again, he couldn't reel it in even if he was trying, not like this. "Are— ah, are you going to torture me all- all night with this?" He manages.

 

And Jon finds his hand pressed down into the mattress again. "If you keep trying to rush me, yes," says Elias bluntly, even though he knows Jon probably can't help how much he's arching and squirming and trying to get off when Elias is edging him like this.

There's a minor war in himself, too: he wants this to last as long as possible, wants Jon in his arms and unable to think for as long as he can have it, because even as headily aroused as Elias is he hasn't let go of all common sense, and he's fairly sure that even if this is no longer plausibly deniable as part of their dupe, it will never happen again. Jon won't let it. 

And that's fine. But if he's only got one night, he wants it to be a good one.

On the other hand, he's losing patience himself. After the third time he leaves Jon hanging he's so turned on that Jon isn't the only one right on the frustrated edge, and Elias worries his lower lip bloody again, pressing them together through the hips even though he knows Jon's close.

 

Jon wishes he had the composure or breath to shoot something back at Elias, finding it harder and harder to care about things like dignity or embarrassment when his entire body felt taut and impossibly tight. The third time he's denied has tears of frustration beading at the corners of his eyes, finding it hard to say more than Elias' name in a pleading tone when he had the breath to do so.

When Elias presses his hips to Jon's he lets out a strangled sound, clutching at Elias the best he can, painfully tight. He tries to rock up, uncoordinated and rushed and it's still better than it has any damn right to be- all of it is. He hasn't even had the chance to really touch Elias, explore his body, and he feels more wrecked than any sexual encounter he's had before. If he had a thought in his head he'd curse Elias for no other reason than the smugness the man would feel if Jon admitted any of that.

He doesn't though, his mind focused on getting some kind of friction and pulling Elias closer in any way he can. He leans up for another kiss that tastes faintly like blood, the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes and down to the mattress.

 

Elias pulls a sharp breath when he realizes Jon is crying, even if it's just a little scattering of tears. If he'd been asked five minutes ago if he could get off on that he would have said no, but it sends such a rush through him to see it. He pushes between Jon's legs roughly, grabbing at his hip, and they're not fucking but the motion's there, the implication of what it might be like to have Elias losing himself in Jon's body. 

"Shh, it's all right," Elias murmurs, kisses the wetness on Jon's cheekbone (smears blood there instead, Jon is going to be monstrously messy when they're done) and just grinds them together, so good and not good enough all at once. "God, I want to be inside you."

It's too late for that, though: for all his talk of patience, Elias doesn't have any left in him, especially not what would be necessary to get Jon ready to take him. So he ruts into Jon's hip instead, gets a hand down and between to try and grip both of them, give them something right to push into. He feels so aware of Jon, so connected, that he's not actually sure who comes first, splashing hot between them as he murmurs filthy encouragement to Jon and wrings every last drop of pleasure from both of them.

Slowly, his pistoning movements roll to a stop, and he just settles over Jon with a pleased sigh, eyes closed, catching his breath.

 

The implication and words are almost too much themselves, and Jon thinks yes in the haze even as he presses up, desperate for release. He chokes out a groan at the hand, Elias' name scattered throughout the pants and soft sobs. There wasn't a damn way it was going to take long after all that, and when he finally does come he's loud enough he'd be embarrassed if he had half the mind to be.

But the half a mind he does have in those moments latches on to Elias shuddering through his own orgasm, the wet heat splatter against his stomach, the blood he can still taste on his lips and what sounds he can register from the man above him. It's hard to even imagine thinking in the haze that follows, the bone deep satisfaction that makes him melt back into bed even as he gasps for breath, Elias' movements slowing and ceasing.

Elias' weight is a pleasant one, and he finds himself humming in contentment as well. He struggles to stay conscious, to keep his eyes open and regard Elias in this state. Even in his daze he knows it's a rare opportunity, likely the only one he'd have. He can't manage though, eyes closing, body aching so pleasantly he thinks he could fall asleep to the steady throb. As long as he's quiet, half asleep with his fingers running up Elias' arm, there was no reality to face.

 

Jon goes quiet under him, and the only reason Elias knows he hasn't fallen asleep is because his hand is still gently moving. But he lets him take a moment to just enjoy the aftermath before rousing him into thought. He knows, after all, how Jon gets. 

He spends the time cataloguing a slow awareness of his body — or both their bodies, the places they still touch, but his own especially. Sometimes physical form seems like more a hindrance than anything, but like this, sated and sprawled, he feels very in his own skin, and very human.

Also very sticky. 

He kisses Jon on the mouth, gently, eyes open. "Jonathan," he says quietly, "I'm going to get something to clean us up. Unless you'd like to take a shower with me." He sounds at ease about the idea, at least; is Elias even capable of shame, really? Mostly he's just — trying to be mindful that he put Jon through a lot — the man cried, for god's sake — and he takes his commitment to taking care of him fairly seriously.

 

Jon kisses back without much thought, languid and still on the edge of sleep. But Elias is speaking, and reality is very much _there_ whether he wishes it would be or not.

He exhales, breath finally caught after what seemed like ages but doesn't open his eyes. Frankly the idea of shower sounded lovely but Jon can't find it in him to say as much - ridiculous after everything he just asked and allowed but apparently his own sense of shame had resurfaced. "All right," his voice is quiet and a little raw. He can't stop his hand from making it's way up and down Elias' arm, slowly. He refuses to open his eyes.

 

Elias drops another kiss on him and gets up, stretches for a moment before he heads to the bathroom. When he returns, he puts a glass of water on the nightstand and slides back in alongside Jon. Wipes his face first, cleaning up the blood with a warm cloth, and then down to gently wipe the sheeny come from his stomach, up over his chest, maybe lingering a little longer than is really necessary.

Despite all this caretaking, he decides that if Jon wants his trousers back on he can put them on himself. Elias tosses the pajama pants in question to a corner of the broad bed and pulls the covers up, turns off the bedside lamp. His own nudity doesn't bother him basically ever, so they're skin to skin when he presses up along Jon again, slides an arm around his waist.

"Jon," he murmurs, kisses his temple lightly, because he's going to be physically affectionate until Jon pushes him away, which he expects will happen first thing tomorrow at the latest. "Are you all right?"

 

Jon blinks blearily through the process, too blessedly spent to think much at all besides it felt nicer than it should. That seemed to be the order of the day though, experiences that he knew should be avoided and yet here they were, with him shifting slightly and exhaling in something close to contentment as Elias cleaned blood from his skin with care.

He doesn't even consider the pajamas, something he's sure he'll kick himself about in the light of day but at the moment he's still too brainless and boneless to do more than curl into Elias' grip. It's strangely natural, like shifting towards warmth and contact was the only concern.

The question strikes him as odd - odd from Elias, odd when he knows what the answer likely should be and what the answer actually was. He leans in lips, to Elias' shoulder, exhaling against his skin as he muttered into it, "Yes, I... yes."

 

That's reassuring. Elias doesn't want to make Jon talk about his feelings, particularly, just wants to be sure that all that cortisol and oxytocin wearing off isn't making Jon's propensity for pessimistic overthinking any worse than it already is. If this is going to be a big deal, it... can be a big deal later. 

"Good," he says brusquely, keeping Jon close. "Me too. Now sleep."

They do, after all, have work in the morning.

Elias gets up early again, but leaves Jon to sleep, sets him an alarm for a more regular hour so he can have some privacy to shower and dress. Leaves a note in his slanting copperplate: _At gym, still in building. Drink water! Leaving 8:30._ — though he's back before that, to shower and get into a suit.

 

When Jon wakes it's with a strange mix of feelings- a certainty of impending trouble and such bone deep relaxation the very idea of getting out of bed seems laughable. He keeps his eyes closed, groggily registers that Elias wasn't beside him and Jon couldn't hear anything to indicate he was even in the flat. A strategic retreat, he thinks as he stubbornly nestles deeper in the covers. It doesn't last long, his mind too nagging at the edges for peace. With a sigh he kicks the covers off and gets up.

The note confirms his suspicions, and for once he's grateful at Elias' tendency for pre-planning such things because the idea of facing him now was— well. He rubs his face, heading into the bathroom to shower and stopping dead at the mirror.

Jon can't help a sharp laugh at the sight: hair every which way, neck covered in marks, he damn well _looked_ every bit of what happened. He stares for a few moments longer, finding it difficult to reconcile this image with what he was supposed to be, what he should be seeing. After a beat he just turns to go take a shower and try and put it all out of his mind for a moment.

By the time Elias gets back he's dressed and sitting at the kitchen, glass of water in hand as he at least tried to look over some notes he had been working on. There's an omelet on the counter, and there was certainly a long stretch of him struggling with whether to even bother making Elias something at all. He probably already ate, and even if he didn't it wasn't as though he couldn't just grab something for himself, and yet—

He's doing a piss poor job of not thinking about it all too much. His mind keeps circling back to logic. It would be so much easier if it had just been a moment of carnal weakness, he could certainly accept — even with embarrassment — getting carried away and that night being the result. He was only (mostly) human, sex was life affirming, etc etc. Elias being the partner was... complicated but given the situation it made sense.

Sadly it wasn't so simple, because he damn well _knows_ the very stupid and very human part of him was fond of Elias. It wasn't just a moment of weakness, he knows it, it was a moment of _curiosity_. He may not have been curious if it wasn't Elias, if everything so far hadn't led to this, if he didn't feel— lord, he didn't want to think about it. Whatever it was, it was dangerous and truly foolish, something he couldn't let happen for his own sake.

When the door opens he glances up, quickly burying his head back in the file before clearing his throat. "I ah... made you this, if you hadn't eaten."

 

Since he kidnapped Jon to his flat the first time, Elias has been taking enjoyment from watching him alternate between fascination and embarrassment. From the way he flusters at his preconceived notions of Elias being stripped away just as much as when Elias flirts. In some ways, this is just an extension of that, so it should be simple to remain detached, observe how Jon is choosing to deal with the situation, and manage it from there.

Jon is apparently choosing to cook for him.

"I... haven't," says Elias, and he looks like a man who has just been working out for a solid hour but he drifts over to the kitchen instead of going for the shower. There are marks on Jon's neck, and his mouth looks like it was _ravaged_ , and he's just here, working in Elias' kitchen like they really are domestic partners. Elias wants to kiss him. It's— dire. He eats the omelet instead, just as good as yesterday, maybe better because he's been exercising. "Thank you," he says after the first forkful, "You really are good at these," and then devours it.

 

There's a quip ready on Jon's tongue, something about Elias being easy to please if his choice in food thus far was anything to go by. It's too strangely intimate, the acknowledgment he knows Elias' eating patterns somewhat now and the goodnature of the teasing, so he simply swallows and nods, trying to focus on his work. He reads a line three times before he gives up and glances over to watch Elias finish the meal.

He regrets it, because Elias looks good like this and after last night it's extremely difficult not to _appreciate_ that. He sighs softly to himself and grabs his water, wishing he didn't have leads to follow up in the office so he could get away with working from Elias' flat. At least then he could avoid the looks his state is going to get.

Or Elias was, for that matter. Maybe he didn't have the same hard to hide marks on his neck but his mouth was— he shoves that thought violently aside.

"You are letting me stay here, it's the least I can do." It's a belated comment but he's desperate to ignore his own thoughts, even if it's through delayed, mundane conversation. "I'm fairly certain my paycheck wouldn't even come close to a quarter of the rent."

 

"I own it," says Elias mildly, "So rent isn't particularly a problem." Of course, a penthouse in this area, that's what, a few million pounds? Nothing to sneeze at.

He's pleased that Jon's drinking water, though, gives an approving little nod when he spots him taking a sip, though he doesn't actually say anything. "This place," he decides to explain, "Mostly exists to impress the people who pay your paycheck, and mine, and a good deal of other Institute employees. Nice to have someone stay who appreciates it."

 

Jon can't help but snort at that. "Ah, of course. Why wouldn't I assume you own this disgustingly expensive real estate." There's the dryness back, and frankly it's easier to fall into it and ignore his nagging thoughts than anything.

Thoughts like he shouldn't damn well feel anything at the little nod when he takes a sip. "They don't... when the Lukases inevitably come to see us they won't be staying here, will they?" The idea of that many monsters under one roof is... something, to say the least.

 

"I do have two spare bedrooms, Jon," Elias points out, in a tone that says that is an unreasonable question. Here is exactly where the monsters stay.

 

Jon sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub his eyes. Of course they did, it was too much to hope they'd stay at a hotel or something. "Wonderful, I really shouldn't be surprised." He considers it's a damn good thing what happened last night didn't when company was over, given his volume at points, and of course that makes him flush and take a stubborn swig of water as if to banish the thought.

"How long do you think they'll stay?" He's a little afraid of that answer.

 

"That depends what their excuse is," Elias says. "Not more than a couple of days, I should imagine, but honestly the longer they wait to decide about us, the better."

He's finished his omelet, by now, watches Jon a moment before taking his plate to the sink. "Are we going to talk about last night?" he asks the tap evenly, not turning around, shoulders tight. "We don't have to, of course, but I just want to know if we're going to pretend it didn't happen or use it for the deception." Or the third option, where it's a thing that happened because they wanted it, a thing that might happen again.

 

"Right, less chance of them trying something," Jon nods along like it's routine. It probably is for Elias, but certainly not for him yet. Of course it was getting there, slowly but surely, and he had no plans of easing it's passage.

His shoulders tense when Elias speaks, grip tightening on his glass. Part of him was hoping it just wouldn't get brought up, at least that he'd have more time to digest what to do. He eyes Elias, considering the the first option and, unfortunately, dismissing it. As nice as it would be on some levels, now that it was out in the open ignoring it would be next to unbearable.

"It- what would you have to say about it, then?" He asks awkwardly, an extremely cheap turn around of the question on Elias but one he can't help but be somewhat interested in. Let Elias go on and on about it being good for the deception, useful but ultimately meaningless and trivial in every other form. Maybe it'd sting but it'd make dismissing it as a bad idea all the easier in the end.

 

"I think I made my position quite clear last night," Elias says, and forces himself to turn around again, square his shoulders. "Of course, it will provide a convincing level of familiarity on which to base our deception."

 

"Do you mean before or after we went completely off script?" Jon presses, glad for his nosy nature to at least give him a few moments of not feeling like he wanted the floor to swallow him. Far too many statements about that lately.

He goes quiet, glowering down at the counter. The problem was, he realizes, he wanted it to happen again. He's tempted to indulge even if it was — most certainly is — part of some grand manipulation scheme on Elias' part. For all Elias' talk of accepting what he was becoming Jon's felt more human the past few days than he has in some time.

Logic. He had to focus. "Fine, let's... admit at least there was a mutual attraction that went to far." He could not sound more awkward and stuffy saying this. "As sensible as it would be to keep distance I realize the awkwardness involved would be extremely telling to the Lukases. I'm not entirely sure what they'd do about it but the answers always seems to be 'nothing good.'"

 

"After," Elias says, amused. When Jon dragged all the things Elias wanted to do to him out of his mouth like barbed wire. He leans a palm on the counter, flat. Watches Jon carefully because he's genuinely not sure how this is going to go, and uncertainty is so rare that he treasures it.

Jon surprises him, by admitting he wanted it. A mutual attraction. Elias comes slowly around the kitchen bench, advancing on him with placid determination. He tends to move like a predator if he's not bothering to pretend to be otherwise.

"They'll be looking for ways to break us apart," Elias agrees, stops in front of Jon. "If you'd like, we can just agree that ... anything that happens is ultimately useful, and we can decide what else it means once we've accomplished our goals." So, postponing grappling with this conversation.

 

"After..." Jon clearly isn't expecting that, and the look he gives Elias is a probing one before the memory of some of those words makes him glance away in embarrassment. "Ah, I see," he manages, and that did... change things. At least Elias wasn't acting as though this was something of no consequence. It bothers him, that such a thing was important.

When Elias approaches Jon tries to straighten, grasping for composure and something like neutrality rather than shrinking away— or worse, leaning in. Elias' idea is shockingly perfect- procrastinating, yes, but he wasn't going to say no to more time to sort himself out. He also was clearly having a hard time saying no to more.

He regards Elias before nodding hesitantly. "That... is acceptable. Worrying over this will just play into their hands." The sound like excuses even to him and he exhales in defeat. "It wouldn't do to be distracted by it if something were to happen again."

 

Jon is both measuring him and trying to measure up, and it's charmingly obvious, goes a long way towards shifting his predictions for how Jon is going to handle all of this. When he gets an agreement, that's good enough for Elias, and the excuses don't matter. They're off into the weeds, now.

He cups Jon's face and then kisses him, right on the mouth — his is a sweet ache, he imagines Jon's is worse. It's a handshake of a kiss, sealing the deal, and he doesn't linger, if only because: "I have to go shower. We're going to be late." He isn't just saying that, either, based on today's traffic and the time it takes him to get ready it's a fairly certain prediction. Still. Given how they look, it will probably just add credence to their fiction — and there is still a fiction. There may be something at play between them here, but it's certainly not at the level of being engaged to be married.

His fingers are still on Jon's face for a moment as Elias looks at him. "More water," he instructs, and goes.

 

It does ache, in more ways than one, and he leans into it despite how damning the agreement it sealed may be. Jon's lips are still sore but more so he can't shake the feeling this was a very dangerous road to be walking. It's far easier to focus on the physical ache, almost pleasant. 

"Excellent, all the more reason for everyone to gossip," Jon grumbles, hand that was braced on Elias' arm as they kissed reluctantly pulling away. He watches Elias uncertainly until the order for water makes him scoff. He watches him go.

And he does end up getting that water, making a petulant show of drinking it when Elias returns.

He'll be quiet on the car ride, fidgeting in his seat and occasionally reaching up to his neck before he realized what he was doing and shoved his hand back down. Now that things were out in the open, somewhat, he does eventually give Elias a dirty look. "You could have at least given me the slightest chance of hiding these."

 

"Hm," Elias hums, faux-innocent, eyes on the road. "I think that would miss the point of them, personally."

 

"There's a difference between a _hint_ of them, perfectly acceptable for rumors, and _this_. I look like I've been mauled," Jon shoots back, as though he had even remotely been complaining last night. Bitching is his comfort zone. "Imagine if I have to take a statement, for god's sake."

 

Elias laughs, and tries not to think about the fact that it's genuinely warm, happy in a way that he usually doesn't experience. "A hint of them wouldn't be adequately territorial." Not for Elias' possessive streak, anyway.

 

The laugh throws Jon a little, he's certainly not used to the sound coming from Elias. Not that it stops him from huffing in annoyances. "What's there to be territorial _of_? I assure you no one is that interested." Except for Martin, and the Lukases, apparently. He has to sigh, then pauses as his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out, tapping the screen to frown down at a text from Georgie just saying: `you're engaged to a cult leader??`

_Melanie_ , the traitor. He turns the phone off entirely and leans back into his seat.

 

When they arrive at work, Tim wolf whistles at them from where he's leaning on Rosie's desk chatting with her, but Elias is fairly certain that the man just delights in making Jon feel uncomfortable as much as he himself does, so he allows it. Anything that makes Tim seem more like his old self is also going to get a pass.

Elias has too much to do to really do more than idly monitor the gossip. Jon will find, on the other hand, that Georgie gets rather insistent about meeting up with him to discuss the fact that `so you're what, eloping? why didn't i know about this?` so it's possible they won't even be going home together tonight.

 

Jon expects as much from Tim, and is admittedly glad to see something like a spark back in him. That doesn't stop him from throwing him a withering glare and locking himself in his office as soon as he has the chance. He only sees Basira, who just quirks a brow at him, Melanie and Martin were nowhere in sight. It concerns him but it was probably better than dealing with either of them at the moment.

He tries to get work done, though it falls into a text debate with Georgie more than anything else. He tries to field her questions, answering as vaguely but as truthfully as possible. Eventually he does give up and and agrees to going to see her. He wanted to do it before the Lukases arrived anyway, given he was planning on staying far away during that time. He had no doubt they would be happy to use her against him.

He slips to Elias' office later in the day, stopped only by Rosie and a hushed series of questions and congratulations. 

("Where's the ring?" She asks with bright eyes, and Jon stares at her helplessly before she gets it and sighs. "You two are hopeless, he really didn't get you a ring?"

"Why do you think he's the one who proposed?" Jon gripes.

Rosie just thins her lips and smiles indulgently.)

He knocks then walks in, sighing as he does. "Apparently we forgot _rings_. Rosie's quite disappointed," he greets. Meeting in Elias' office was getting strangely commonplace. "I came by to tell you to go home without me, I'm going to see Georgie before I head back."

 

"Engagement rings are farcical," Elias says flatly. "Gold bands on our wedding day will serve perfectly well, I should think." It's not being cheap, because when is Elias ever, he just ... he likes simple things, ultimately, even if that's difficult to tell from the way he lives. But even in extravagance, he's minimalist: the capsule wardrobe of sharp lines, the lack of knick-knacks, even the neat arrangement of his office. 

Anyway, he considers Jon for a moment, trying to evaluate if this is nervous avoidance that will need to be addressed, decides it's not. Fishes out the little key to his flat: it looks more like a USB drive, and functions wirelessly, its presence opening the electric doors and working the lift. "Take this with you then," he says, "I can have someone let me in. But do send a text message if you're going to be out late, London is terribly unsafe and I'd hate to have to nannycam, as it were."

 

"Farcical? I can't say I expected such intent views on engagements rings of all things," Jon answers dryly, a hint of amusement their despite himself. He was already failing at having a touch of distance. "Fine, I don't particularly care either way. The less we have to worry about the better." 

Jon watches him back, wondering briefly if he was going to get a lecture about spending time with Georgie. Thankfully that isn't the case and he takes the 'key,' turning it over in his hand curiously before pocketing it- and rolling his eyes. "You act like I get kidnapped often. It will be fine, I should be back before dinner." He pauses, ready to leave before glancing back. "Do you want me to pick something up?"

This level of domesticity was still baffling to him.

 

"If you don't it's because you barely leave your flat," Elias snipes back, though it's just... it's bickering. It's as domestic as the offer of dinner.

Which, speaking of. "No," he says, "Thank you. I can organize something for us."

'Something' turns out to be beef stew. Elias made it clear he doesn't have much cooking experience, so it's probably a surprise, but the housekeeper who helped him seems to think he's doing something nice for his new boyfriend, and won't disclose her assistance unless Jon manages to somehow Ask-ask. With her help, he manages to cut things into chunks and not burn anything, and what more does a stew need, really. So he's not concerned whether Jon will like it — he cheated to pick something that would hold the same meaning an omelet did to Elias. He's just concerned how he'll... take it.

 

Jon gets back on time and unharmed, truly a shocking turn of events for everyone involved. He's a bit exasperated as he gets through the door- for once not at Elias but at his conversation with Georgie. Not only was she not accepting his story ( _You? Eloping? Have you met yourself? And you're actually going to tell me with a straight face you were having a tryst with your boss? You wouldn't know how to have a tryst- don't give me that look, you know I'm right._ ) she also had far too much fun when she caught sight of his neck. He was pretty sure she was going to pull a muscle with that laughter.

Needless to say it was an awkward encounter that ended on an uncertain note. Georgie let him go without further questioning but insisted she knew he was up to something and he better let her in on it eventually. She wasn't wrong of course, though the way she spoke made it seem like she assumed Elias was holding something over him or there was some 'weird cult shit' going on. He wondered how she'd handle the truth if he ever did tell her, it was actually more ridiculous.

He pauses when he walks in, blinking at a smell that made him suddenly feel like he was walking into his childhood home again. He follows the smell to the kitchen, frustration forgotten as he realizes he wasn't hallucinating or having some sort of stroke.

"... is that beef stew?" He asks, surprise in his tone. "Lord, I haven't had that in... well, a very long time." Before going to University. He didn't really visit home much after that.

 

"It is, yes," Elias says, smiling to himself at the note in Jon's voice. "I thought perhaps you'd want something a bit ordinary before we have to host the aristocracy." 

A dry joke as he serves it into bowls, thick with gravy. He's been drinking a little, carries the tail end of his whiskey over to the table with the food.

 

Jon exhales, lips quirking slightly at that. "Yes, I imagine the Lukases aren't much for cheese sandwiches and omelets." He heads to the table, nostalgia warming his tone. "Funny you'd pick this, it was one of my favourites growing up. Whenever I got into a fight with my grandmother over something and she wanted to make amends she'd cook up a batch. Her way of offering the olive branch without having to say it, I suppose."

He picks up a bowl then pauses, glancing back over to Elias in realization. "Unless this wasn't a coincidence." He's learning.

 

"I'm not much of a believer in coincidence," Elias confirms. He's strangely touched by the story, though, the context: he hadn't known that.

"I don't think we need an olive branch, though," he adds, to dispel any mixed messages. He isn't looking for a truce with Jon, not when their fighting is still so enjoyable. "It was just... you cooked for me, you see. I prefer not to be in debt."

 

"Oh, that's—" And it's Jon's turn to be touched, something that shows pretty plainly on his face as he regards the bowl in his hands. He certainly hadn't been expecting that, it wasn't as though Elias needed to repay him for such a simple gesture. He should probably be more unnerved he knew of the stew at all but it was becoming increasingly difficult when he simply expected it.

He clears his throat, trying to regain a sense of normalcy and not the strange feeling whenever Elias showed his humanity. "I ah- thank you, Elias." He's sincere, and after an awkward beat he sits down to have some, humming in approval at the taste. "Did you actually make this? I'm rather shocked you know how to turn on a stove to even heat it up." And there's Jon again. He doesn't even mean to insult, as per usual, just he assumed Elias didn't bother much with the trivial matters of keeping his fleshsuit running when he could have it taken care of.

 

Elias isn't really insulted, because... well. It's not as though he was _wrong_. Elias just has no compunction about cheating. "I think I've managed all right," he points out. 

For a moment he just eats in silence, managing to focus on his food and not Jon eating, but still very aware of him. "How's Georgina," he asks eventually, remembering the reason Jon was home late in the first place.

 

"More than all right." Good job, housekeeper. Jon clearly isn't just saying so, he digs in to the meal and only pauses when prompted.

Right, that. "Honestly, 'Georgina.'" He rolls his eyes at the use of her full name, it always felt strange to hear. He vaguely remembered calling her it when they first met and being promptly told to cut it out. "She isn't buying it, or at least she doesn't think I'm capable of having a sordid affair with my boss that ends in eloping. Not sure if I should be insulted or not," he answers, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. "She thinks you're holding something over me, or that there's 'weird cult nonsense' going on. I guess she isn't entirely wrong about the latter. Either way, it hardly matters. I told her I'd be busy and she seemed accepting enough of that, so it won't be a matter to worry over until the Lukases leave."

 

"Weird cult stuff," echoes Elias, charmed. He'd stand by the fact that there's nothing cult-like about their worship, given Beholding is a quantifiably real religious figure, but he still does take Jon's point.

"I'm glad you worked it out with her," Elias says, meaning it. "And did you ask if she would be your... Maid of Honor, I suppose it would be." It certainly would Not, Elias.

(Also, she's going to be Georgina forever, just like he has a slight preference for using 'Jonathan'. Sorry Georgie.)

 

"It would not- I am not the blushing bride here," Jon rises to the bait immediately, surprising exactly no one. "And please, the very last thing in the world I want is for you two to meet. I have enough stress in my life, thank you. Let's keep it to flesh wearing puppets and endless hallways for now."

Also the wedding was fake. There was also that.

 

"Are you planning on inviting Orsinov and Michael, then?" Elias asks, deliberately misinterpreting, because riling Jon up is his favourite sport. "I could probably get Breekon and Hope to come." 

Their lives are very strange.

 

"Ugh, I hate you, the wedding is off," Jon groans, mostly because he could imagine the lot of them showing up as a very real and very dangerous possibility. Again, if the wedding was actually a thing. He stands, stew finished and empty bowl in hand.. "Aren't they all supposed to be too intimidated by you to come knocking anyway?"

He's marrying Elias for his money and monster repelling properties.

 

Elias just follows him back to the kitchen, where Jon just. Blatantly strokes his ego, much to his delight. Elias greatly enjoys knowing that he's the thing that terrors are terrified of. "And therefore too intimidated to refuse a direct invitation, I should hope." He puts his bowl in the sink, stretches his arms over his head, some remnant from this morning's exercise a pleasant ache when he twists in just the right way — then drops them again. "A great big reception with all the monsters from statements there to talk to you — that's just about your worst nightmare, isn't it," he remarks knowingly, catching at Jon's beltloops before he can do anything like cleaning.

 

Jon very much wishes he could earnestly say yes to that, but there's now the unfortunate part of him that would _love_ the chance to pick their brains. He places the bowl down just as Elias catches him, eyes widening on instinct. "You look far too pleased with yourself at the thought of hand delivering my worst nightmare," he points out yet doesn't pull away. He also wishes he could say he wasn't somewhat fascinated by Elias, stretching and almost lazily smug and casual.

He rests a hand against Elias' chest and wishes he didn't immediately think about how he didn't get a chance to explore Elias last night.

 

"I'd consider it an honour and a privilege," Elias agrees seriously, stepping into Jon's space. But he doesn't push forward any further than that, just enjoying being there, for the moment, holding his gaze. Jon's hand warm even through the material of his shirt. 

He doesn't need to be a mind-reader to know Jon isn't uncomfortable right now, and that's good; a couple of days ago and the man would have been tense and blushing, desperate for an exit, at war in himself. Elias likes this better: a little startled, but ready, too. 

"I could have sworn I had things to be getting on with this evening," he murmurs, fondly chastising, because right now the only thing in his head is coaxing Jon back to the bed.

 

Jon lets out a faintly amused breath despite himself. He isn't anywhere near as conflicted as he should be and he knows it. "You're the one that caught me," he points out and unhelpfully doesn't move his hand away. 

He imagines what Georgie would have said to him if he told her the whole truth: the amusement, of course, but more the exasperation at his tendency to make exceptionally bad decisions all centered around his curiosity. He couldn't even fully blame that here, too much of his actions driven by simply wanting to see it through. By fondness he was having a harder time denying every time Elias did something as simple as think to make stew.

"Far be it from me to hold you up." He just as unhelpfully draws closer minutely. Maybe Elias would go back to whatever work he had, but it was fairly clear Jon was hoping that wouldn't be the case.

 

Goddammit, Jon.

Though, really, Elias can't believe him _self_ , caught up in a pair of perfectly ordinary eyes. He reaches up and plucks off Jon's glasses by their bridge, and tucks them into his shirt pocket, so that he can kiss him warmly without impediment. It's not really starting anything, even with all this electric tension, just an easy hello kiss.

"How's your mouth feeling," he murmurs up against the mouth in question. "I can go easy tonight, if you'd prefer." Since last night had been intense. That Jon has eroded his will to work enough that sex is definitely on the table now doesn't really need to be stated. He can always catch up while Jon sleeps.

 

There's plenty to marvel at yet Jon marvels at how easy it all is. How he doesn't bat an eye as his glasses are removed, how the domesticity of before came without a struggle, how a pair of monsters, one old and one in the making, played human so damned well. How kissing Elias back no longer came with any embarrassment. 

He licks his lips at the question without thinking, tongue grazing Elias' mouth as he does so. He thinks, however briefly, about moving away while he had the chance, but the evening so far has him weak.

"Really? I find it hard to imagine you 'going easy.' I thought needlessly intense was your default setting." Yes, that's something of a challenge, and heaven forbid Jon just say yes, slow and easy would be nice tonight.

 

"Never needlessly," Elias promises, hands shifting around to rest on Jon's hips instead. He is considering if maybe they should talk about it, Jon just putting himself in Elias' hands over and over. The blood, the crying, the way Jon had gone away somewhere after.

But no. God forbid. "I could be gentle with you," Elias murmurs instead, except somehow it still sounds like a threat, like even gentleness will be incredibly intense. It will just, probably, also involve less tears and biting. "Though I've no guarantees what will happen if you start trying to compel me again."

 

"Only you could make the promise of gentleness sound sinister," Jon informs, that damned fondness promising to bubble up again. It would probably be a much better idea to go for rough again, less chance of falling into the trap of fondness when he could hardly think. Sadly his curiosity is piqued. If he's doing this, which it very much seemed like he was despite better judgment, he wanted to know. He wanted to see how a man (monster) like Elias wore gentleness.

"You know that's easier said than done," he will admit though. Even without the added draw of how Elias trembled against the questions, it was hard not to slip. The scar on Elias' stomach is still on his mind, for example, like a persistent itch. He runs his hand down to where he believes it was under the shirt, shakes his head. "If you weren't so damned mysterious all the time I wouldn't have questions."

 

"Oh please," Elias responds, lightly scornful. "You could watch a film with my whole life on it and you'd still have questions." Though he knows exactly where Jon's hand is, smiles a little. "You need information more than you need food. Fortunately for both of us, I have plenty of that." Enough to ration out for a long time.

They're flirting again. Elias kisses him, both of them still smiling a little, and it's nice, to just stand in the kitchen and kiss. There's no ramp up, Elias isn't demanding with it, so it's just a fond back and forth like a continuation of their conversation.

 

Jon can't help a quiet chuckle at that, because as much as he hated to admit it that was true. Elias was the only person in his memory who spoke of that with a degree of fondness, of all things, and that stirs something in his chest he doesn't want to name. "I wouldn't have questions about _you_ at least," he murmurs, and frankly he's pretty sure he still would. Elias always did manage to surprise him, for better or worse.

Somehow languid kissing in the kitchen - the the nostalgic smell still lingering in the air and dishes in the sink and Elias smiling somewhat against his lips - feels like the most domestic thing they've done so far to Jon. He should kick himself, just this morning he was debating the best way to separate and now look at him, pressing up against Elias leisurely, lips pleasantly sore. 

When he breaks the kiss he's smiling without thinking, without particularly trying to hide the feeling of fondness or questioning it as he should, just regarding Elias like this was natural rather than ill advised.

 

That sweet look makes Elias want to get intense again, but he resists, just drops a last quick peck on Jon's mouth like a digestif. "It's really too early to go to bed," he tells Jon like he's sharing a confidence. "But I'm sure we can find a way to pass the time."

 

Jon has to stop himself from chasing the peck back, exhaling through his nose at the comment. "No work tonight?" Yes, there's the faintest hint of compulsion and it is entirely deliberate. Be proud, Elias, he really has gotten worlds better at his level of control since coming here. He really didn't expect he'd be getting practice through _flirting_ but it was better than getting nearly killed through trial and error.

 

"Jonathan," says Elias, voice dropping, somewhere between warning and arousal. He knows Jon knows exactly what he's doing, which under other circumstances he might feel a little proud, or smug, but right now it's just wilful disobedience. Which shouldn't be as damnably attractive as it is.

 

It's difficult not to indulge in this, not with how Elias reacts. So Jon had something of an unhealthy fascination with the man, a man he should absolutely keep his distance from at best and be the enemy of at worst. It was just so _interesting_ to get reactions out of Elias, whether they be expressions or shifts in tone or words themselves. He can't help but pick at it, keep prodding at something he probably shouldn't to see what would happen next. It was always a bit of a problem of his.

"Yes? Something wrong?" There it is again, just a little stronger, as he smooths his hand over Elias' shirt. For someone so torn this morning he was clearly coming around, and as much as he wished he could say it wasn't so simple he knows it's the fact Elias made an effort with the food. It was- the gesture was kind, even if he'd never truly be sure of the intentions.

 

And there it is again, faint but distinct, just a little shiver through him. It's getting to be familiar.

"You're not too old for me to take you over my knee," Elias warns him, which is distinctly not a slow and gentle proposition. "You know exactly what you're doing."

 

"Perhaps. Given how often you tease me with your nonsense I'd say turnabout is fair play," Jon responds, but at least for now the compulsion's died out. He tugs lightly on the front of Elias' shirt, directing towards the living area. "Come on, whatever it is we're doing I'd rather it not happen in the kitchen."

 

That's nearly the most forward Jon has been since they started 'practicing', and Elias smiles to himself, lets Jon lead him out into the living room and then keeps going, herding them both towards the bedroom. So no. No work tonight.

"I think," says Elias as he starts to undress Jon, unbuttoning his shirt like it's the most ordinary thing in the world, "We might discuss a little first. I'm not actually a mind-reader, and I'd like you to enjoy yourself. You seemed enthused about the idea of letting me fuck you — are you also interested in the other way around?" The fact that he's managing to make this sound more like a professional inquiry than dirty talk probably explains a lot about how he hid his monstrousness for so long. "No wrong answers," he adds mildly, hands stroking over Jon's chest, doing his best to keep his expression innocuous.

 

"That's a relief," Jon quips about the mind reading, and there's some sincerity there. Elias could be eerie with how much he knew and how often. He never truly thought Elias could read minds but it was still nice confirmation- assuming it was the truth.

Jon does feel awkward at being undressed but it's so minimal compared to before it's almost amusing. It is rather amusing how Elias can ask something like that as though they're discussing a budget spreadsheet, and despite a flare of embarrassment he does consider the offer seriously. He leans in slightly, worrying at one of the buttons on Elias' shirt as he thought it over.

Being so frank about all this is clearly enough to dredge up some nerves, though he tries to sound as neutral as Elias and fails. "I ah- I think I would be. I've always- I enjoy trying things at least once before passing judgment," he answers, flushing slightly now at the image it presented. "And your preference? I suppose you've made that somewhat clear."

 

"My preference is you, Jon," Elias tells him, a bit amused — probably actually too flippant for such a weighty statement. He amends: "I know what I like, and it's taking my partner apart." Breaking Jon down into his basest component pieces and seeing what he does, who he is there. Though he takes the responsibility of being allowed to do so fairly seriously. 

His mouth quirks, and he regards Jon. "If you can convince me that tying me to the bed and having your wicked way with me is what will get you there, then that's what we'll do." He finishes with Jon's shirt, starts in on his belt. "But I think my, mm, educated guesses as to how you like it have proven fairly accurate so far." He thumbs over the blossom of a bitemark at Jon's hip like punctuation.

 

Jon can't help something of a laugh, nervous but genuinely amused. "Honestly, only you could say something like that so easily." 

He pulls off his shirt, shuddering when Elias thumbs over the mark. His kneejerk reaction is to be contrary but he knows it'd be rather ridiculous to pretend Elias wasn't right. Even if he hated admitting that sometimes. He loses patiences, starts on Elias' shirt as he huffs. "You're making the idea of wiping the smug look off your face all the more appealing." He mutters as he gets through the buttons. "But.... fine, I liked it. It's nice not to think for a while, and you- well, you have a way with _distraction_. Is that what you want to hear?"

 

"Yes, I think it's good for you to get out of your head for a bit," agrees Elias, not rising to the provocation of Jon's tone. It is exactly what he wants to hear. He shrugs out of his own shirt, drapes an arm over Jon's shoulder even though they're both half-dressed, presses a kiss to the corner of Jon's mouth. "I meant it when I said there are no wrong answers. Don't be ashamed of what you want, Jonathan. Life's very much too short for that."

 

Jon eases somewhat into Elias' grip, sighing at his words. "I've often found what I want isn't always good for me." And that certainly included Elias, or at least common sense and history told him as much. Elias wasn't off, and lord knew what would happen when this charade was over, so he turns and reaches up, deepening the kiss purely because he can. He wants to. Life was short and all that.

When he pulls back he feels steadier. "Help me stop thinking then. Take me apart, if that's what you want."

 

Elias kisses him, then, not sure how else to express that he's trying, he's trying to be good for Jon — or, healthy, at least. God knows Jon is good for him. All this _body stuff_ , food and sleep and sex, drawing him back from the edge of his own inhumanity. Jon is warm, and persnickety, and needs careful looking after. Elias isn't sure he's ever known anyone like him.

"I'll need your trousers off for that," says Elias, and then breaks them apart, leaving Jon to finish getting undressed. This time, given they're not being quite so impulsive, he can organize things close to hand, like a washcloth and a glass of water, tissues and lube. He can also fold away his trousers neatly, hang his dropped shirt, take off his watch, unconcerned by his own bare skin as he goes about all these little tasks. Part of being gentle, for Elias, is being thoughtful, thorough.

But he does eventually approach the bed again, pulling Jon close for another languid kiss.

 

Jon watches him a moment after he pulls away, not so much thrown as curious at unexpected reactions. Admittedly he didn't know what he expected when he asked Elias for this, for _gentle_ , and true to his typical form Elias isn't quite what he imagined.

He finishes undressing, placing it aside and crawling onto the bed for no other reason than he didn't want to stand there, watching Elias move about. This time he catalogues what he couldn't the night before, Elias' back and the way he moves so unconcerned in his own skin. When he returns Jon's kiss back reflects his curiosity in ways, probing as he shifts for a better angle. With no cloth to tug his hand curls on Elias' bicep and towards the bed.

 

Jon pulls and Elias follows inexorably into his space, crowding him backwards up the bed onto the pillows, practically climbing into his lap, legs folded elegantly beneath him. And then they just kiss for a little while, Jon's hands free to explore whatever they want of Elias' body, learn the lean muscle of it and the softer places. For Elias' part he just maps Jon's shoulders, and kisses until his mouth is all sore again. Then he draws back, panting softly.

"So," he says, low, the word incisive. "I only have one request, and that's to talk to me. I want to know if you're uncomfortable, or need a break, or want to try something. You don't have to compel me — I'd almost prefer not, I can't think straight when you do it. You don't even have to be nice about it. But you have a good voice, Jon, do use it." He smiles a little, stroking idly over Jon's thigh, a slow back and forth. "Plus, my flat is soundproof."

 

And explore Jon does, eagerly, down his stomach, up his hips and side, down his back. His touch is firm and slight in turns, not clinical but mapping, learning. He lets his hands rest on Elias' hips as they part, taking in the request with a languid blink, consideration than a hesitant nod. 

"... all right," he agrees. No compelling, that was somewhat easy, he didn't think he'd be grilling Elias for information during this. The speaking was a little harder, his awkwardness rearing its head and pushing the urge to smother his sounds but- "You're thorough even when with gentleness, it's..."

Whatever it is Jon apparently decides to lean up and smother the answer instead, hands sliding up Elias chest and very lightly scratching back down.

 

Elias doesn't demand an end to that sentence; he thinks he's safe making the assumption that it was a compliment. He just cups Jon's face with one hand, rests the other at the junction between neck and shoulder, and kisses him some more. They're getting rather good at it.

Still, apparently he isn't going to let Jon get away with hiding his noises in hungry kisses, because his mouth slides away. Revisits, with surprisingly affectionate presses, the marks he already left along Jon's throat and collarbone, down his chest. "I really made a mess of you, didn't I," he says, sounding pleased.

But that's not his goal today: Elias has another destination in mind. He backs up until he can drape his arms over Jon's lap like a housecat; at this angle the scratches down his lightly freckled shoulders are especially visible. "I haven't done this in a while," he remarks, looking up at Jon, the this in question becoming obvious seconds later when he curls a hand around the base of Jon's cock and takes it tenderly into his mouth.

 

"I liked it," Jon admits, slightly stilted but he seems to be making an earnest attempt at speaking his mind. The treatment of the marks gets a content hum, tapering off as he watches Elias move. He fixates on the scratches, the smattering of freckles, for a moment, tracing the long lines with a satisfaction that surprises him. He blinks down at Elias, distracted and question ready to be posed when-

"Oh-" He breaths, and this is... unexpected. The image Elias is presenting alone - long scratches down his back and lips around Jon's cock - it's more than a little heady. He reaches up to try a smother the choked groan comes out of him, stopping midway when he remembers Elias' words and letting his hand fall to Elias' hair instead.

 

Elias draws off to tell Jon: "Good," at the sound of the unfettered groan, because a little positive reinforcement can go a long way. And he punctuates by licking up the length of Jon, before taking him back into his mouth again.

It's a slow, luxurious blowjob. Elias takes his time because he's a perfectionist, relearning the weight and pressure of a welcome intrusion. Hums occasionally at Jon's hands in his hair, but stops sucking if he tries to pull, and while this isn't be best angle for thrusting he still keeps one arm perpetually on the verge of pinning Jon's hips in place. He doesn't want to be rushed.

 

The positive shouldn't help and yet it does, something he can't bring himself to be surprised about given most things he shouldn't feel around Elias he did regardless. 

Jon learns quickly he has very little control of the pace here, that any bucking or squirming does little. Of course that doesn't stop the squirming, can't really, because Jon realizes now there are certain things he can't help in a state like this. Sounds continue to be one of them, despite his embarrassment, but given Elias' orders he imagines they must be appealing to some extent, even if they sound little more than desperate and strange to him. 

"Elias..." He breaths, running his hands through Elias' hair to stop himself from pulling by accident (he learned that lesson, choked a groan when Elias stopped.) The build up is slow but steady, and eventually his tone has a raggedness to each breath.

 

Elias stops again, then, but not to be a torment, making little hushing noises and kissing Jon's hip. What he's after is the lube he'd placed so close to hand.

"Knee up," he says, encouraging Jon into position, legs apart. "I'm going to get you ready for me. It's all right if you come." As unabashedly blunt as always. And because he's going easy, he warms the lube first, crackling wetly between his fingers.

One hand curls slick around Jon's cock once more, idly massaging, while the other slips down between his legs. He pauses at Jon's entrance, just circling the rim while doing a quick visual checkover, making sure Jon is okay with this.

 

Jon does as he's told, marveling slightly at the change in tone. Usually Elias' calm in these situations frustrated him, made him want to perform in some way to put a crack through that veneer. Now it was... appealing, softer somehow, not irritating in the slightest so much as calming. 

He follows Elias' instructions, pulling into position with surprisingly little shame as he gasps. The permission is appreciated, given his body is already strung tight and close. He clutches the bedsheets with one hand, the other running a thumb shakily over Elias' temple. "Go- ah, go ahead, I-" he swallows, losing whatever composure he managed in the tail end of a whine. "Elias, _please_."

 

Elias cats into Jon's hand and kisses it, just a reassuring peck with his swollen lips. And then he drops his attention downwards, and slowly presses in.

Jon is searingly warm inside, and so tight; Elias murmurs "That's it," to him as he works first one finger in and then another, stretching him carefully— plenty of lube, until it drips down his hand— and then, despite himself, despite what he promised, a little bit roughly. "Open up for me." It's not that he's impatient so much that he likes the way Jon responds to short, blunt jabs, his thumb pressing hard behind his balls.

 

It has certainly been a _very_ long time, and Jon can't help but tense instinctually even as he hisses a distinctly pleased sound through his teeth. Despite himself he trusts Elias, a hopelessly foolish thing but it's easier to ease his tension because of it. He cracks open his eyes from where he shut them tight at the intrusion, watching Elias and the look on his face and how his mouth forms around the words. He wants to touch him but can't reach and settles for grasping at Elias' shoulder instead.

The hint of roughness and the words and everything prior built up, take their toll with a soft cry as he comes, clenching around Elias' fingers. He gasps, mind hazy as he falls back some. His body is certainly relaxed now, even as he lifts himself back up on a shaky elbow and murmurs. "Don't... don't you dare stop."

 

"Oh, I'm certainly not intending to," Elias agrees warmly, resonant. He still has Jon in hand, even, though his grip loosens and stills once he's finished working him through his orgasm. 

It's not long now, though, before he decides Jon is more than ready, all that relaxed pliancy going a long way, and Elias decides to take advantage of it. He presses one final kiss to Jon's thigh and sits up, cleaning off his hands (and Jon's groin to be polite) and opening a condom with his teeth.

"I can spoon you," he offers, "Or we can do this face to face, choose whichever you like." Some people don't like to be looked at, after all. Notably both of these involve Jon lying flatter, and Elias gets him there by pulling him down the bed by his hips, casually handling him.

 

It's a little difficult to think as he comes down, the continued ministrations flaring hotter against his nerves. It's almost too much but not quite, not nearly too much, and when his thoughts clear enough he breathes out in consideration.

"I want to see you," he murmurs, not thinking about any implications or being seen in return. Even with his head buzzing the idea of seeing Elias like that is a pleasing one, and he does his best to help shift the position even if his movements are still sluggish.

 

Elias wastes no time, then. Jon is pliant for him, helps get them both where they need to be. Pressed all together it's almost reminiscent of last night, except this time Elias is drawing up one of Jon's thighs; except this time there's no blood and teeth, just him looking curiously down into Jon's face as he lines himself up; except this time it's gentle.

He doesn't press forward straight away, even though he's realizing belatedly just how hard he is, abdomen tense with ready wanting. Dips and kisses Jon instead, a little sloppy (probably slightly gross, oops, but he isn't waiting for permission). 

"This is exactly what I want," he tells Jon seriously, pale gaze intent. His hips move, one slow, firm thrust, taking him unrelentingly. "You are exactly what I want, Archivist." (Calling someone by their job title in the bedroom is not exactly a Cleo sex tip but Elias is in a weird headspace.)

 

Jon watches him, still riding the lovely haze of his orgasm, of the actions so far. He doesn't concern himself with the little things he would usually- how he looks now, what Elias did in the past, how he was becoming to find all this so impossible to walk away from. "Come on," he murmurs when Elias doesn't move, slightly appeased when Elias leans in to kiss him. Any other time Elias would probably have gotten an earful for that, but instead hums into the contact.

He breathes in as Elias speaks, not much time to focus on the words when Elias pushes forward and in. There's a burn even with the preparation but Jon is in no state to lie to himself and pretend he didn't enjoy a touch of pain. It doesn't last long regardless and then he's gasping, shifting his legs wider, closing his eyes briefly before forcing them open again. There's something about hearing _Archivist_ , he's not entirely sure if it's good or bad, comforting or terrifying or both. It does feel _right_ coming from Elias, in ways he was in no shape to try and understand. Whatever it was ran deep, ran into whatever was fracturing his humanity and already fractured Elias'.

"Elias..." he breaths, and it's a shame Elias doesn't have a more graceful job title of weird, kinky bedroom headspaces because his tone implies it through quiet gasps.

 

Jon may not be able to use his title but Elias can hear it in his voice anyway, some deep-running connection between them. Jon collects the information so Elias may know it, and in return Elias — loves him, in his own dark way. Or at least values him enough to try.

Fully sheathed, he lets them both breathe, lets Jon feel how he's been pinned and filled, but then. Oh, then he rolls his hips and sets up a slow, steady rhythm. Takes his time, all tensed up with the exertion of it, of keeping himself in check. His eyes stay open, holding Jon's gaze, breaking it only with intermittent kisses, splashed across his mouth and jaw.

Elias' thrusts get firmer, still slow but deep and sharp, snapping his hips demandingly and revelling in the noises Jon made each time. Though Elias is being coaxed beyond just breathless grunts himself, murmuring Jon's name with a fondness he wouldn't normally let himself acknowledge.

 

Jon clutches at him as best he can manage, kisses broken with the need to gasp for air. It should be difficult to hold Elias' gaze for so many reasons yet he does, devouring what expressions Elias gives him, learning the shape of this. There was always something fascinating and addictive about new discoveries, and if he had the presence of mind for sincere though he would doubt he'd get bored of these anyway.

He shudders around Elias, clenching the first time Elias says his name with that tone. He can't help but respond to it readily, pulling as if he can have Elias closer still, trembling into kisses that don't last long because he breaks them with pants or soft cries or Elias' name. He gets louder, choking on noises in his throat.

 

Elias' vaunted control takes a long time to give way, fracturing with spiderweb cracks at every noise that spills from Jon's plush mouth, until finally it shatters. He takes Jon's leg and hauls it higher, eyes fierce as he seeks his own completion in Jon's body at a demanding pace.

When he comes, it's still looking at Jon, a whole universe of something unspeakable in his gaze. Thrusts his hips home tight, a breeding instinct, and then slumps enough he has to catch himself on one elbow, panting hard, eyes closed. All that gentle patience and he's unraveled himself a little bit unexpectedly.

He does, eventually, flex into movement and pull out, flopping off to the side. He deals with the condom mostly on automatic, though he does at least then offer Jon a hand if he needs it, having lost track of being reciprocative at some point there.

 

Jon nearly reaches up to muffle the sounds coming from his mouth, completely breathless, horrendously embarrassing high pitched things as he struggles to handle it all. He's definitely at a point of overstimulation, everything just a little too much as another orgasm builds so closely after the first, and he has to grasp the bedsheets tightly to stop himself from breaking Elias' rule about silence. 

"Elias— god, I—" He's not sure what he even wants to say but mumbles much of the same until it's mostly a whine, incoherent but fever pitched. It's so incredibly difficult to keep his eyes open but he does, watching Elias, some part of him still present enough to take in process and tightening lines and draining of tension as Elias slumps over him. He closes his eyes then, loses himself in the feelings alone as he reaches down to finish himself off with a weak noise deep in his throat.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing deep, feeling just as bone tired as he did the night before. He exhales as Elias pulls out, somewhere between a grimace and satisfaction, and tries to pull him back down to his side when he comes back within reach. Even if that meant getting some sticky mess on Elias as he curls into him, apparently not caring a tad for that at the moment.

 

Elias is equally careless about the mess right now, sweaty and sticky as he drapes himself back over Jon. "Mm," he says approvingly when his exploratory hand reveals Jon managed to take care of himself. He trails fingers through the resulting mess and all the way up Jon's chest. "You make such delicious noises," he informs Jon, that elegant voice still sounding wrecked.

He kisses Jon on the shoulder because it's close, and then the jaw, and then the mouth. He would like to think he's achieved his goal, of stopping Jon thinking, but apparently it's had its own effect on him, because his body feels heavy, sleep's grasping hands tugging at him even though they're not even under any covers.

 

Jon can't help a shiver at that tone, groaning softly at Elias daring to unintentionally spark his interest when he's pretty sure his limbs are lead. He reaches blindly to cover his mouth, a failed effort that leads to him half cupping Elias' face as he kisses him back, slow and lazy.

"You're too good at this," he mumbles against Elias' lips, and what 'this' exactly was is up for debate. Sex, making him brainless, kissing, who knew. It sounds faintly like a complaint, but given how he stretches his back in contentment and presses closer still that was probably some bullshit.

 

Elias smiles at that, taking it as the compliment that it is. "I'm good at you," he corrects lightly, because that's far more accurate — he's going to be smug about getting Jon off twice in so short a time... well, for the foreseeable future, honestly. Another lazy kiss, catting a little into Jon's hand.

 

That should be a concerning statement, likely would be if he was a little clearer in the head, but for now Jon simply huffs a faintly amused breath. He's close to drifting off, he can feel it, and who would have thought he could say that when he was pressed up against Elias, still exchanging kisses like afterthoughts. It's nice, to just lie around and kiss and then slowly drift off; Elias at least manages to pull the blankets around both of them first.


	4. my sound of distant breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content includes: Semi-Public Nudity, Sex In Water/While Wet, Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs.

Jon sleeps well, too well really, for the second night in a row he doesn't wake up to nightmares or the thought of danger and monsters and bloodshed. He does wake up to a buzzing he recognizes as the lift, and sits up groggily, wondering if Elias went out. 

 

"Fuck," mutters Elias, sitting upright. There's a reason he doesn't need a security system, but he's still half surprised, having slept through any early warnings. He shakes off any last vestiges of sleep and tries to decide whether he should embrace his deshabille and force the awkwardness of intrusion on his visitor, or try and get into a suit fast enough that he gives the impression of having been ready and waiting. 

He goes for the first option, pulling on briefs and then a silk dressing gown, in a dark red that gives him an aging libertine vibe. Combs his hair rapidly, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and that will have to do. "Stay," he tells Jon, low, and goes to meet their guest.

 

Jon watches this process as he rapidly wakes, frowning with questions obviously on his lips. He spares Elias, mostly because he can guess who may be visiting and it didn't seem like wasting time questioning was going to be particularly helpful. Score one for Jon being sensible.

"Yes, all right..." he answers, getting up just to at least put some clothes on. Also extremely tempted to listen at the door, which is not a surprising development.

Their guest waits by the lift, examining the surrounds with his hands in his pockets has he hums a tune to himself. Galloway Bay, though when Elias enters he says, "Do you know this song? I've had it stuck in my head all morning, but I can't for the life of me remember the name. Don't you just hate that?" He hums a few bars to make a point, then turns to regard Elias properly.

And immediately grins. "Well, this is a first. Surprising Elias Bouchard himself? Unless this is how you greet your guests now?"

 

"You're the one entering my home uninvited, Peter," Elias says calmly, refusing to be back-footed. He'd known this was coming, he'd predicted this, just — he curses himself for a fool internally, for assuming the mundane security of the building and lift would work, for not properly setting an alarm, for sleeping so hard that he'd let his guard down. The fact that he was even sleeping at all feels like a weakness.

Elias crosses into the kitchen and starts to make coffee for both of them — and a third cup for Jon, no point pretending he wasn't here given their goals. All three of them take it black.

"It's Galloway Bay, by the way," he adds, because as beneath him as idle trivia is, it still feels like a challenge. "Crosby. I can put it on, if you'd like. Sometimes the only way to be rid of an annoying tune is to listen to the whole thing."

 

"Oh come now Elias, you knew I was coming. Maybe not when, or even who exactly, but those are trifles," Peter waves a hand dismissively as he follows, no longer examining the area so much as Elias. Much more interesting than the decorations he's seen before, that's for certain. 

"I mean, anyone with half your brain would know as much, given the circumstances. It's not often you so blatantly reject our requests," he pauses, then adds a spot cheerfully. "Of course you went with a more diplomatic way of saying so, yeah?" And he nods to himself. "Galloway Bay, that's it. Knew you were the right man for the job."

 

"I was distracted," Elias says icily, and then dials it back a little, remembers to make himself pleasant, unflappable. He's been humiliating Jon for days as part of this charade; he can take a little on the chin himself.

God, but he would have preferred just about any other Lukas. They're generally a dour lot, cruel but boring, scientific-minded, easy to handle. Peter is... eccentric. Elias knows that better than most.

"I wasn't even aware _The Tundra_ was supposed to be in port," he says flatly, offering a mug. "Must have been an error in your shipping manifests."

"So I hear," Peter grins at that, and the glance he throws Elias certainly says he has ideas now on what exactly distracted him. "About that actually, the family was still discussing plans when I offered to come see you myself— you know them, have to talk themselves to the ground before a decision can be made."

He takes the offered mug and leans against the counter, elbows on the no doubt pricy marble, looking more like this was a typical gossip session between friends than anything else. Well, almost that typical, if his eyes didn't have a certain unnerving hollowness the rest of his family shared. "I've been meaning to come by for a while, really. I wanted to finally meet your new Archivist."

 

"He's asleep," says Elias immediately, flatly, sharp on the p, the protectiveness in his expression not entirely for show. He also has no doubt that Jon is actually eavesdropping and if his Archivist knows what's good for him he will for now keep himself to the bedroom (and en suite and study — out of sight, is the point).

"But you're welcome to stay, of course," he adds, tone lightening by degrees, trying to get into the spirit of this camaraderie, or at least pretend to. "Until you have to ship out again. My guest rooms are at your disposal, Peter." And then, just to be very clear: "My Archivist, of course, is not."

 

Peter chuckles, as if the thinly veiled threat and protectiveness was one of Elias' endearing quirks. "The rest of the family didn't get it, you know? Thought it was strange you'd be so abrupt in your dismissal, couldn't imagine you'd bind yourself to another, etc etc. To be fair that's in our wheelhouse, eh?

"Didn't surprise me though, you've always been a bit... hm, involved? With you and yours. Protective, you could say." He's smiling as he speaks but there's something clearly there, a deliberate way about the words, especially 'protective.' In anyone else it would seem good humoured, like he was sharing a joke. Elias likely knows Peter too well for that, of course.

He leans back. "Aw come on now Elias, I'm not going to snatch him up from right under your nose, just like you'd never lie to us, yeah?" Still completely pleasant, lips quirked, limbs loose and relaxed. "I heard... what was it? Oh yes, he went right up to one of those wax buggers, just strolled right on over and started picking its' brain. Your lot really know how to pick them."

(And yes, Jon is most certainly trying to listen with mixed results. Mostly he gathers this guest likes to talk and Elias wasn't all that thrilled about it. At least he's following Elias' instructions, for the moment.)

 

 _Just like you'd never lie to us_. Elias can feel a headache beginning in the base of his skull — he prefers to be the smuggest bastard in the room, thanks. Sometimes he finds Peter charming, god knows he used to be infatuated, but right now it's grating.

"Jonathan's self-preservation instincts are a touch lacking when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge," Elias agrees. "Fortunately he doesn't work alone." He's got Elias to be protective. 

 

There's something that crosses Peter's face at _fortunately he doesn't work alone_ , deeply thoughtful and otherwise unreadable. "Fortunately is a funny word to use there. He's going to need to stand alone in the end, isn't he?"

 

Elias finishes his own coffee, takes up Jon's, straightening. "Excuse me. If you can manage to occupy yourself for a bit, Peter, I'm going to get dressed — and wake my fiancé." And with that he's going to retreat to the bedroom before a vein starts twitching in his temple.

 

He smiles and waves a hand. "Of course, of course. I have all the time in the world."

Jon, meanwhile, steps back from the door when he realizes footsteps were coming. He's a bit concerned until he realizes it's Elias, which makes him relax but frown. "One of the Lukases I assume?"

 

Elias clicks the door closed with the kind of slow deliberation that implies he'd prefer to slam it. "Peter Lukas," he answers, darkly, crossing to his nightstand to retrieve his phone. "0110201," he adds, as a reminder, though they both know Jon has quite a good memory for the statements. It's hard to keep track of which ones Jon is familiar with, but he is fairly sure that was a Jonathan Sims Recording.

"Fun guy," he adds casually, fiddling with his phone as he crosses to his closet, picks out a shirt and holds it under his chin so he can match a tie. "You might like him, he's certainly more interesting than a lot of his family, and he seems quite eager to meet you."

And then he sends Jon a text, lest Peter be eavesdropping. `Careful with this one, Jonathan.`

 

Elias' mood, as carefully and impeccably controlled as it was, makes Jon uneasy as he watches the man move about. "Oh, yes, _The Tundra_." Jon may be a hot mess but he pretty immediately remembers exactly which statement Elias meant, frowning as he nods. "I rather distinctly remember being forbidden from looking further into that one. I suppose now would be the chance."

He takes a seat on the bed, considering Peter Lukas and what he knew, nodding along to what Elias said. "We'll see. It's rather hard to truly like someone when they want you wed to something better left to scaring children into obedience."

Then he notices his phone buzzing, frowning as he reaches over to pick it up. The message is... well, concerning was one way to put. He glances over at Elias and nods. Somehow the 'Jonathan' makes the whole thing seem more serious.

 

Elias watches him check his phone, nods back. He doesn't trust Peter not to be listening, a level of paranoia primarily employed because he knows what he himself would be doing were their positions reversed. 

"Yes, well," he says, responding to Jon's last words like the text didn't happen. "Try please, darling." There is something very slightly sardonic about that endearment. Anyway, Elias is just going to proceed to get changed, unconcerned as he sheds the robe. "And remember what I've told you about haranguing the guests."

 

Jon almost rolls his eyes at 'darling,' even if Elias has the sort of voice that even makes sarcasm sound rather lovely. He can't help but watch Elias a moment, the way he moves and the scratches down his back, before collecting himself and grabbing the coffee from the nightstand.

"No compulsion, yes yes," he dismisses, though- "Unless he'd agree to giving a statement. Would he? It would be nice to have something from the actually Lukases on file, rather than the constant nonsense they get involved in."

 

"You can ask, I suppose," Elias says, since... if Peter agrees willingly then there's no harm in it, and it's not as though he wouldn't like it himself. There have been other Lukas statements, of course, some older than Peter, some which Jon will never get to hear. But not many — Elias' distinct knowledge of them comes from personal experience and the ability he has to shape the outline of a person out of everything else said about them. A shadow profile. There is very little direct information, particularly about the shipping company and _The Tundra_.

Slacks, singlet, shirt, Elias builds his armour piece by meticulous piece. His mouth has a crooked dip to it when he holds up two ties for Jon's examination. "Paisley or stripe?" (And then picks whichever Jon doesn't say, because he has taste, thank you.)

Once he's tied his tie he goes to clean his teeth, rubs his jaw lightly — maybe he should have shaved. His morning routines have come all askew, between the heavy post-coital sleep and the unexpected arrival being genuinely unexpected, and he hates it. "If you can get him to talk to you for a while I'd appreciate it," he admits. "I've got a headache already."

 

Watching Elias get ready always made him feel slightly shabby in comparison- even at his most prim and proper he was nowhere near as meticulous. It would have bothered him quite a bit only a couple of years ago, though now his priorities have changed. It does have him at least attempting to smooth out his shirt and make sure he's to rights. Still couldn't hide the marks on his neck, but that was most certainly the point in front of the Lukases.

He considers how it would have been rather nice to sleep in just a little more. Lord, he was getting far too comfortable with this.

After complaining ("Why did you even ask me for my opinion? Paisley is fine, for god's sake.") and agreeing hesitantly to Elias' request (would it be strange to try and comfort him with a hand on his back? Jon dismisses the idea immediately.) he heads out. He's not sure what he expects but it's certainly not the man who greets him, so outwardly pleasant it's disconcerting.

"There we are, you must be the new Archivist," Peter walks over, taking one of Jon's hands in both of his and shaking warmly. "Peter Lukas, a pleasure."

He holds on to Jon's hand for a beat longer than is comfortable or proper, something Jon assumes is part of whatever ridiculous mind games he and Elias were no doubt playing. Jon forces a smile. The last time someone acted so pleasant he found himself falling through endless sky. "Jonathan Sims. I'd agree it's a pleasure if I wasn't fairly certain you wanted to bind me to something unspeakable."

Peter laughs softly at that. "Business is business, you know? Besides, believe it or not you'd probably thank me for it after you had time to ah.... adjust." He doesn't elaborate on that, and Jon's torn between being glad and asking for more. He forgets it when Peter glances to his neck with a knowing look. "Probably wouldn't be as fun as Elias though."

 

That must be Elias' cue, because he emerges from the bedroom at pace, and crosses to slip a territorial arm around Jon's waist. There's not even a startle, so their practice has obviously been effective — in fact, they seem to be pulling the ruse off well so far. Elias forces himself to relax a little into Jon.

(The annoying thing is, it works. He still has the beginnings of a headache, but he trusts Jon will provide ample enough distraction to let Elias have some peace today, and in the meantime this is soothing. Jon tucked into the curve of his arm, the two of them presenting a united front — )

Elias gives Peter a thin-lipped smile. He's much, much better at geniality now that he's wearing something with buttons. "You still haven't told me for how long we have the pleasure of your company," points out Elias, not wanting to discuss how _fun_ he is.

 

Jon tries not to flush, and boy is their practice working because he not only doesn't startle but leans into Elias without thinking. He tries not to show the amount of relief he feels to have Elias at his back, even as Peter looks faintly amused by the showing.

"Hm, a while? I guess this might as well be my vacation," Peter muses. "Ah, but you hate vague answers, don't you?" He glances to Jon with a conspiratorial look. "Nothing gets under Elias' skin more- well, besides playing with his things. Oh, I suppose I should say his people, not things. Wouldn't want to be offensive."

Jon feels like that comment is some sort of in joke, full of bad taste. "Well, that's why he has me, I suppose. Compulsion and all."

"Now _that_ sounds fun." Again Peter reacts in a way he doesn't expect, throwing him off. "It's only fair if I showed you a little bit of my own talents, so to speak. I promise I'll even bring you back."

 

" _Peter,_ " Elias says, warningly, very much proving the point about what gets under his skin. God, how had he not seen this coming? He had expected a polite business dinner with one of the sombre Lukases trying to intimidate him into slipping up. Instead he has... this.

"The Archivist is aware of what you can do," he says crisply. "And if you're just showing off you can at least wait until there are other people around, instead of leaving me to wait here until you're done _playing_." A withering little reprimand.

 

"Elias," Peter answers innocently, lips quirking as Elias reprimanded him. "Aw come on now, that'd be half the fun. Jon and I can compare notes without you snooping like you always do."

"Compare notes?" Jon blinks, and Peter smiles at him all the more.

"Oh you know, Elias and I used have fun back in our misspent youth. I have to admit, it's part of why I insisted on coming. Elias marrying the Archivist? _That_ is too interesting to hear about secondhand."

 

Elias' hand clenches, fingers digging bruisingly tight into the muscle of Jon's hip, but then forcibly relaxes again. It's the only outward sign that this is getting to him. "Well, have at then, I suppose," he says evenly. "I'm sure my Archivist has plenty of questions for you, and I have work to be getting on with."

Unleashing Jon on Peter might actually make him feel better, even if he's a little worried about offending the Lukases overall. But worry only goes so far. He shoots Peter a steely look, adds politely: "Though if you try to pull some kind of _droit du seigneur_ whilst in my flat, you won't enjoy the consequences." He's just going to. Let Jon go, then, as reluctant as he is. Cross to make more coffee, this time with a hefty slug of whiskey even though it's still quite early. 

He does have work to do, but he's going to bring it out of the study — he doesn't need to be present to keep an ear and an eye on them, but he prefers to give the visual reminder.

 

Well, Jon certainly wasn't expecting that. He glances to Elias, the grip on him telling enough that it was true. If the situation weren't so tense he might even have found some amusement in it, Elias finally getting some of his dirty laundry out to dry. As it stands it just worries Jon more, because before he was mostly concerned with what would happen to him if their ruse failed- now he has to wonder with no small amount of concern what would happen to Elias.

Peter laughs at the warning, still good-natured in tone, as if he was laughing with them rather than at them. Jon rather doubts that's the case, and watches Elias head away before focusing on Peter. "So you'd-"

"Give a statement?" Peter cuts him off, lips quirking in a mockery of fondness when Jon closes his mouth tightly at the interruption. "I would, though it'd depend on what exactly the statement would be of. We do have some secrets even allies shouldn't know."

"The Stranger, perhaps?" Jon tries, not with a great deal of hope it would take but still, hope was there. Peter moves, flopping down on the couch, patting the place next to him and waiting until Jon awkwardly took the seat before shaking his head.

"No, afraid that's off limits- ha, the face you just made! Sorry, sorry, just telling anyone roped in by the Eye that information isn't forthcoming is a bit of a treat." He chuckles, then continues with less humour. "I'm sure Elias has said as much but it's for your own good. Really I'm denying more for him than anything, call it a favour to an old flame. No doubt he wants his fiance to survive a little longer."

"Yet you'd take me from him for this ritual, if you had the chance."

Peter exhales at that, patient and level. "Well yeah, but if Elias loses you or himself that way it's his own damn fault. Besides, it wouldn't kill you. Like I said, you'd thank me eventually."

"And why is that?" This time Jon can't help it, compulsion slipping through the lines of the question. He physically pulls back, instinct now when using it against monsters who weren't Elias Bouchard. "Oh I— I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Peter doesn't shiver like Elias, doesn't make a sound besides closing his eyes and releasing a breath. "Shhh," he tells Jon, who falls silent and watches him slowly smile. "Wow, that's... interesting. More subtle than I thought, actually. I always assumed stern old Gertrude used it like a blunt weapon, you know?

"Ah, don't look at me like that, I'm not going to bite- though it looks like you wouldn't exactly mind that from some parties." Peter offers, and Jon nearly reaches up to cover his neck in indignation, even if the words put him a little at ease that he hadn't crossed a line. "I really thought you'd ask for a statement about how I met Elias- I could give that to you, you know. It'd be fun, really, getting into it, watching Elias decide whether it's worth the effort of trying to stop me."

"I..." Jon hesitates, because he can't deny he wants to know yet it feels too much like bait on a hook. He swallows, "That's clearly up to him to decide."

"Oh, now that's lovely, an Archivist respecting privacy? He either has you very well trained or you really do love him. Ah, I offended you again," Peter laughs at the look that crosses Jon's face. "Sorry, sorry, really I am. I don't spend much time with people, you know? I think you do, actually, but that's neither here nor there. We're talking about monsters now."

"Ah, can I-" Jon stands and Peter waves a hand, watching the Archivist head to his bag by the door. He pulls out a recorder, and when he returns it's with a sigh. "It was already on."

"Of course," Peter leans back, watches the process of Jon placing the recorder down and saying the typical words. Statement of Peter Lukas, regarding- "Monsters and binding," he supplies. When Jon finishes he closes his eyes.

"You must think it strange, the whole affair. Why would the esteemed Lukas family tie something important to an outsider, ally or not? Why would a group so focused on the agony and depth of isolation pair such a force with another? Why be a group at all?

I could give you answers to all of that, but they aren't truth so much as our perceptions. You're not made in the right image to see it, not yet at least. Have I mentioned I have a soft spot for Archivists? Old Gertrude, I never met someone so pained by the very isolation she forced. It ate at her, a miasma carried on her dainty shoulders, and still she went on and on and on. I can see it in you, you know. Not that strong, but it's there. It will always be there. That's why we're allies, you see. We love what you do to yourselves in your quest for knowledge, and no one digs themselves quite as deep as the Archivist.

But that's another matter, really. What's important to you and yours is the whys and the winding journey around them. Now, I want you to picture something. There's a dark room, or a blank room, or a room with no echo because an echo means there's a voice to bounce against the walls. There is your voice but you are silent, and you are so very alone. You've been so very alone for a long time, long enough you gave up even the comfort of speaking to yourself, the shield of make believe too cracked now. That's why there are no echoes, because you have given up hope. There's something like relief there, isn't there? A pyrrhic victory in ways.

Right then though, as you've given up counting the days, imagining sunlight or the warm press of a hand in yours, you hear something. It's faint, and you hold your breath, heart beating and adrenaline coursing, all that good stuff. You don't hear it again for a while, but you do hear it again. It sounds like breath, and you convince yourself it's the air. It sounds to rhythmic to be the wind, but you tell yourself anything else is impossible. It's in your head, because you've accepted you're alone and always will be, and yet.

You don't let it go. How could you? You imagine a heart beat, build flesh, make person after person in your head and imagine them breathing in time with sound. It's constant now, the sound, and oh how you clutch to it like a lifeline. You tell yourself that even if it's nothing it's all right, it's new and that's enough. It's not enough. You lie because no one is there to catch you doing so. Only you and the breath. You're alone, you tell yourself, and it's a little harder each time to mean it, until you don't mean it anymore. You think, unbidden, that you're not alone anymore. You're not alone.

And the breath stops.

Are you surprised? Of course the story would end this way, though it's not over. What's important isn't the breath, or the time spent making it real, or even that singular moment when you truly believed you were no long there by yourself, cut off from everything. What's important is the fallout. Can you imagine it? The absolute shattering of every hope you told yourself you didn't have. If you were at rock bottom before you still had the ground beneath you to lie on, some foundation to hold you up. Now there's nothing, just you, only you. That's the way it's always been, you see, but now you know it. You know it. 

Even Gertrude never got there, did she? I know you're wondering why I keep saying you'll thank me eventually, should we get to bind you. The thing is you would kick and scream the whole way, it's only human, yeah? But at the end- ah, that's where it's a gift, Archivist. It takes people years and years to reach that point, longer than their lifetimes to really understand we're alone. It's a hard truth but it is a truth, and here you'd be, bound to the spirit of it. Kind of ironic, right? Never truly alone yet you'd always know you were.

Isolation's always worse when there are people right beside you, eh? I think you understand that. Elias does. That's why I like you Eye folk, I really do. Watching you hollow yourselves out just to fit more in is...

Well, not many could handle it, that's for sure. That's why it has to be you- you or him. Our ah... monster, we're still calling it that, yeah? It would _flourish_ here. Just wouldn't be the same anywhere else."

Peter stops and Jon finds himself blinking then shuddering, the feeling of the words still clinging to him with an air not like suffocating. Claustrophobia. Peter at least patiently waits for him to collect himself, swallowing before speaking.

"Statement ends," he mutters, focusing on their 'guest' again. "You make this sound more like planting a seed than anything else."

"That's not a wrong way to look at it, not entirely at least," Peter shrugs, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin in his hand. "A wedding really is the best way though, as strange as it may sound. It's... a commitment. A bonding of two forces. It breeds something we can't make on our own."

Jon frowns, which makes Peter chuckle. "And, of course, the fact you're bound to Elias makes it impossible to force. That is the thing though, Jon, being bound doesn't just work in title alone. That is why I'm here, to make sure your bond is actually strong enough to be an excuse."

"That's... utterly ridiculous," Jon answers, lips thinning when the comment made Peter chuckle. "Honestly, how would you even tell?"

"Come on now, we all have our tricks." Peter leans forward suddenly, placing a hand on Jon's wrist before murmuring. "Think about it, Jon. _Really_ think about it. There's a reason Elias doesn't want this for you."

He stands then winks, "Well, I need to put my things away and freshen up. You two have fun gossiping while I'm gone." And with that he heads to the hall and to his guest room, leaving Jon to stare after him.

Elias listens to the whole thing — or most of the whole thing. There is a time when he is alone in the room, and it's oddly unsettling, to realize he honestly notices Jon's absence. That the Lukas' particular proclivities and powers are suddenly capable of bothering him in a way they never were before. Like the story, loneliness is most felt when it comes after the contrast of companionship.

But the tape is running, so it's in him, the genial statement. Peter always did like to talk, and Elias, at least once upon a time, liked to listen to his running patter. It's relaxing, the steady feed of information.

When Peter excuses himself, Elias leaves off the documents he's been notating, paper splashed across the dining table, and crosses to sit the space he left vacant. His expression is its usual unreadable mask — but his eyes are on Jon.

"Want to go for a walk," he offers.

 

It was always rather difficult to shake the feeling of a statement after he took it, and this one leaves him with such a desperate feeling of loneliness that he finds himself surprised to realize Elias was in the room. He starts but nods quickly, standing despite the quiet tug of exhaustion that came with statement taking.

"Very much so," Anything to get out of the room, if only for a moment. He imagines Elias wants to speak without being overheard, but the idea of fresh air is still a welcome one. 

He heads for the lift, calling it, and it isn't until the door closes and they start going down that he slumps slightly against the wall.

"Did you know all that? What the creature actually was?" He asks, no accusation for once when asking Elias about prior knowledge.

 

Elias stands, hands in his pockets, watching Jon in the reflection instead of directly. "Some of it," he admits. "I know what the Lukases are." He understood why they'd want an Archivist, what they wanted to take from Jon, and why it would be ritualistic companionship when their domain was so focused on singularity. The philosophy didn't surprise him. The thought of germination, though...

The lift stops, and he take's Jon's hand, perhaps just to remind him that he is not, in fact, alone. 

"Peter's always been a zealot," he tells Jon as they walk through the clean lines of the entry foyer. "And he's the most dangerous of them because of it. Lord. I can't tell if he genuinely likes you or if he's trying to provoke me." What's worse, he can't tell if it's working.

 

"You were willing to bind yourself to this thing instead," That's what Jon can't quite wrap his head around. It was funny, when they initially discussed it he hadn't spared a thought to what Elias may be stuck with if he could pass it off to the man. Now it was alarming, the very idea of it. He could pretend it wasn't because he's grown fonder of Elias, probably would usually, but at the moment he's happy to clutch to what connections he has.

And Elias' hand, which he does grasp. It helps.

"I think he does like the Archivist, whether he likes me is another thing entirely. I at least got that impression when he spoke of Gertrude." He was usually good at telling that sort of thing, in statements at least. People didn't tend to lie in statements. "I have no doubt provoking you is the focus though- what exactly was your relationship with him? How does one even have a relationship of any sort with some... isolation obsessed zealot?"

 

"Hm," says Elias. "Are you asking as the Archivist or as my fiancée, I wonder?" Teasing, slightly, because he knows the answer. (Thinks he knows the answer — doesn't consider the overlap in that particular Venn diagram.)

They're just going to walk through Kensington while holding hands, then, which Elias is sort of all right with. It's still early, and London is at peak greyness, but it's still a nice area and they can turn through a nearby park, maybe sit and watch the duck pond a while. The fresh air dissipates the building tension in him wonderfully,

"I'd offer to give a statement but I don't want to wear you out any more than I already have," Elias says lightly as they walk. Meaning: by putting him in proximity to Peter. Of course. "But I will tell you," he says, before Jon can accuse him of dodging. It's the sort of thing Jon would wonder about if they were together, and presumably the sort of thing an enablers Elias would then share, so Jon finding out from him before Peter helps to solidify the deception of their relationship.

 

Jon almost says he isn't sure himself, the damn honest truth of it, but catches that with a sour look in Elias' direction. "I'd compel you to make it easier but lord knows you've thoroughly debauched that activity." Public was not the best place for Elias' reaction, though Jon has little doubt Elias would be more than capable of hiding it. A traitorous part of him considers that, testing Elias' resolve, then immediately chastises himself for it.

For god's sake, he gets laid twice and he was becoming a degenerate. Definitely not telling Elias any of that.

The area is nice though, and for all the world they really did seem like a strolling couple. He slows somewhat, feeling more relaxed now that they were farther away from Peter and tape recorders waiting to be fed. He could even detach from Elias probably, no one here to make a show for, yet he keeps his hold on Elias' hand.

"I'll assume you mean because I've already taken a statement," he says dryly, but nods more seriously when Elias actually agrees. "I'd rather hear it from you than him. Honestly his offer felt like a trap somehow."

 

"You know that wouldn't work on me," Elias reminds him with a chuckle, though the idea of it does prickle at him, it can't be denied. An intimate little touch that nobody else would know about, just from asking him a question? Mm, he's definitely a degenerate.

Elias brushes a thumb over Jon's. "All right," he says quietly, but he's quiet until they get to the little bridge on the path ahead of them, and then he stops. Reclaims his hand to lean both arms on the railing, looking down into the algae green water. There are ducks sailing diagonal ripples, and little rings from fish kissing the surface, a falling leaf. All the patterns of the water in motion, spreading and colliding.

"I was me," he says first: this is an Elias Bouchard story, not the memory of a ghost. "But still somewhat new to the position of Head of the Institute. Oh, I'd gone through my adjustment period, just as you're doing, but I was still — I suppose Peter would say I still had that foundation, a foundational humanity that persevered regardless of what I knew of the world. And that's what allowed me to fall in love.

"We met through work, obviously; the cult of Isolation by one name or another have been friends to the Magnus institute dating back to Jonah himself; I believe I once read you a statement in which one made a guest appearance. I mostly dealt with Nathaniel Lukas, but I knew of his younger brother the way I knew of a lot of things. We were introduced properly at a black tie gala, and got on very well: when he shut out the world it was a little oasis of peace and quiet in the midst of an overwhelming evening. He offered to take me out on the water, which I accepted — I'd boated a bit in Oxford and enjoyed it.

"He didn't own a sailing boat, as I of course discovered, but a mighty cargo ship. I went with him anyway, at Gertrude's urging — one voyage on _the Tundra_. You already know how it went — I'll say that for Peter, he's a loose canon in every other sense and can't keep a number in his head straight but he makes his grim sacrifices with loyal clockwork. I admire devotion in a man."

He stops, then, glances at Jon, like he realizes he's giving a statement. The ducks have moved down the pond, having realized the pair on the bridge had no bread to throw. "I could stop here, you know," he says, though it feels less like a halt to the story and more like how he'd enjoyed stringing Jon out until he cried. "You're not compelling me. You mightn't even feel it — certainly the Eye knows all of this already, all of me."

 

Jon frowns as Elias cuts the story off, the psuedostatement because it certainly felt that way. Did he feel it? He wasn't sure anymore, he knows he feels something but to pretend learning about Elias didn't affect him in some way was pointless now.

"You could," Jon agrees, imagines if anyone could end a compulsion anyway it would be Elias. "But then I would need to ask Peter Lukas and even you aren't that cruel." He doesn't sound sure about that, and less actual cruelty and more the memory of the faint, smug curve of Elias' lips as he denied him the night before last. A less intense cruelty, perhaps.

He sighs, slightly put out, before trying, " _Please_ continue." It's sarcastic but sincere.

 

However sarcastic Jon tries to make it, it's also very effective. Elias' lips quirk, still back in the present, looking across at him. "I also like man who know their manners," he says (flirtatiously, even though he shouldn't.) 

"Well. Where were we. We became lovers — obviously." Even Jon surely isn't so obtuse as to have missed all of Peter's smirking references. "He wasn't always in port, but when he was it was easy enough to find an excuse to see each other. I was enamored of that feeling of _literally_ being the only other person in a room with him. Having all of his devoted attention. Which entirely misses the point of what Isolation is, but perhaps I thought..."

The downside of this not being a real statement: Elias doesn't finish that sentence. He wants a drink very badly, looks up into the brightest patch of clouds instead. "It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. Still clinging to the possibility that I could be human, that the pretense of it was a facet of something true in me that I'd successfully hidden away, protected. Peter disabused me of that notion. He who fights with monsters, and all that. I'd say he made me choose the Eye over the people who were very dear to me, but it's more accurate that he showed me I'd already made the choice.

"And then I was doubtless no longer of any particular interest to him. I thought perhaps if I was monstrous we could at least be monsters together, and in response he took me with him to the place where we'd spent so many long, private hours, and left me there. 

"I survived, of course — but when I emerged things like touch and food and sleep and love felt pointless to me, useless." Elias concludes. "But that was a long time ago, and I've mostly forgiven him."

 

Jon rolls his eyes at Elias' flirting, an expression that dies rather quickly as Elias continues. It's a painful story, of course, a deeply unpleasant one. He had the feeling most stories of this nature, of two once people that belonged to these domains, these stories weren't really destined to have happy endings. It was all horror stories, every statement was to some extent.

He knows he shouldn't feel sympathy here, or maybe more he doubts Elias would appreciate that. "He thought he was doing you a favour," he says after a long moment, guesses really, tone quiet and somber. "At least I imagine so. He seems to think all this binding nonsense would be one in the end, rather than..."

He struggles a moment to define it- what being bound to that thing would be, what he'd say what happened to Elias was. "Horrible." He settles for, maybe not quite right but close enough to it. He hesitates a moment. "I'm sorry- I know you'll probably dismiss that but... well, there it is."

And he clears his throat, at tad awkward at being so sincere despite it all. "Well, this is less than ideal. I suppose we just keep on keeping on."

 

Elias looks at Jon in response to that apology, and then he turns and take up one of the other man's hands again, clasping it in both of his just for the sake of it.."You marveled, earlier, at me offering myself up to Isolation for you while knowing what it meant," Elias says, fingers tracing slowly over the back of Jon's knuckles, "But I also know I can endure it. If it does come down to one of us, let it be me."

"But we may have complicated things slightly, last night." By being... actually involved. By reminding Elias of the parts of himself he thought had already been cut away once, and showing them directly to Peter so that he might do it again, and better. It's not an easy thing to admit, that this might hold meaning enough to hurt him.

 

"But-" There's a knot in Jon's throat, one he can't pretend is from anything other than the idea of Elias having to do that. He exhales through his nose, feeling shaky from something other than the earlier statement. 

"God damnit all, Elias, I can't just- complicated things, you say? Yes, complicated is the perfect word for it, because lord knows it's stupid beyond measure but I'm far too damned fond of you now to agree readily to that." Jon practically snaps, because who did emotions without being a prickly asshole about them? To be fair it was quite the rollercoaster, and despite it being painfully obvious he tried so damned hard to hide his own feelings as things progressed.

 

Elias doesn't look surprised, but he doesn't look smug either, Jon's affronted gaze sparking off the veneer of ice in his own. But then he lifts the hand he's holding and presses his mouth to the knuckles, eyes closing tight for a moment, a hitch in his breath.

This is more genuine emotion than he's displayed in public for a long time, so of course it's only a moment. A harsh exhale, and he lets Jon have his hand back entirely, raking a now empty hand through his hair. "That's just it," he says, low and strained. "I thought we'd be safe in not actually caring for each other. Doing so has its own liabilities — you're my sound of distant breathing, Jonathan."

 

Jon can't help the way his fingers shake, watching this subdued sign of affection that spoke volumes. He feels- lord, what did he feel? For days now he grappled with fear of loving someone who certainly couldn't love him back, and now Elias was proving that wrong. He wasn't entirely certain Elias even loved in the most knew it but whatever it was he displayed now, whatever brief show that was sincere. Seemed it. 

His hand hovers a moment before dropping, and the slightly muffled sound he makes was likely once an amused one. "Confessions in the park are so trite," he manages, because while Elias was poetic and subdued Jon could only be acerbic. He swallows, and wonders if he's happy at all in this. He thinks he is, or would be. It's hard to see under the dread of the situation.

"He said if there was a legitimate bond there it wouldn't take. That... it has to mean something, if he's telling the truth. What I- whatever it is here, for me, it is most certainly legitimate," he murmurs, fingers twitching with nervous energy, the need to fidget. "I know there's far more to concern ourselves with- the general future and whatever Peter Lukas might be planning to make his plan work despite that but... at least there is that."

 

There's certainly more to concern themselves with, isn't there always? Elias kisses him anyway, there in the park, on a bridge, trite trite trite. He cups Jon by the face so he can't get away and takes his time with it — it's not exploratory, he's memorized Jon's mouth already or what sort of knowledge-keeper would he be, but it's thorough.

One fat wet droplet hits the material of his shirt, the duck pond, Jon's glasses askew between them, but Elias doesn't notice until the heavens open up and a sudden sheet of rain descends upon them. Elias breaks back, pauses for a moment like he's genuinely considering ignoring it for just a little more kissing, and then says: "Come on!" and bolts for the nearest cover, which could be something romantic like a gazebo on a small hill but is actually a bus station. The rain drums in hard chorus on the aluminum roof as runs a hand through his soaked hair and laughs, shaky.

 

Extremely trite, and if Jon weren't hyperfocused on the exploring Elias' mouth he'd probably imagine what a laugh Georgie would have at him. He can feel a drop of rain down his neck but doesn't move back, doesn't think about it because what a waste of time that would be when he can be right here.

The weather has other plans, and he follows after with a put out look directed to the sky. He's fully ready to launch into some sort of complaint as he adjusts his glasses, say the damned sky itself had to give him a hard time, but there's Elias in a dirty little bus station, rain soaked and laughing and-

He really does damn well love him, Jon realizes with a caught breath. He breaths a shaky laugh himself, walking over to push Elias' hand away and comb through Elias' hair. "You're making it more a mess," he explains, and he isn't actually but Jon is so torn between jubilant happiness and fear he can't bring himself to care.

 

Elias' brows lift when Jon fusses over him, but his mouth has a funny little curl to it and his eyes are just all fondness. He ducks his chin forward so that Jon may finish his ministrations. Elias often has a pocket handkerchief, and he pulls it out now, steals Jon's glasses off his face with a nimbleness of finger to make a street magician weep, and dries them deftly.

"There," he says, and doesn't put them back on straight away, looking at Jon all wet-lashed and affectionately looking back. Yes... yes, this was a serious complication.

"I happen to know," he says, finally giving Jon his glasses back, "That my complex has pool facilities. Including, I've been informed, a hot tub." His bathroom would probably serve just as well, but he doesn't want to go back to the room with Peter just yet. (And as Jon will probably recall, Elias' flat itself has very little value in the snooping — plus there's plenty of entertainment added specifically with the Lukas family in mind. He isn't concerned about leaving him up there alone.)

 

Jon takes his time, for no other reason than he enjoyed the feeling and the look on Elias' face. He only offers a soft huff at the theft of his glasses, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Elias' hair. He thinks of Tim in his doorway, the sincere _are you sure about this?_ Lord, he hadn't been sure about anything for longer than he wanted to admit. This was likely his greatest mistake to date, and yet-

And yet, that was one he used far too often. It all did nothing to quell the bubbling affection as his lips quirk dryly. "I need those, you know. Seeing is something of an important matter to use, as far as I've come to understand it."

He pulls his glasses on, considering the statement for all of a moment before nodding. "Better than returning to our guest," he says without missing a beat, and doesn't consider Peter being bored for a moment. He had the distinct feeling Peter Lukas was quite used to being alone.

 

Honestly, tidying up Elias' hair and drying Jons' glasses were probably both equally pointless: the rain isn't letting up, and there isn't another bus for a while, and it seems stupid to call a taxi just to go down the road. "Nothing for it but to get soaked, I suppose," he tells Jon, looking out through the sheets of it as the wind buffeted stray drops into the bus shelter with them.

He takes Jon's hand. Better the rain than pausing to talk out the shape of whatever this is between them. And it turns out he's correctly predicted two things: by the time they stumble back into the foyer they are both dripping, and, on the ground floor near the gym there is a heated pool and spa. Elias doesn't even acknowledge the doorman, just tracks water across the tile. 

The pool room is steamy, and Elias does his best to lock or jam the door behind them. He may have no compunction about being publicly nude, but he can't imagine Jon feels the same way. Elias takes one look at him all bedraggled and steps immediately into his space. "Allow me to help you with that," he murmurs, but instead of helping he's mostly getting in the way, trying to get his hands under Jon's clothes.

 

Jon rather uselessly hold his hand up to at least try and keep his glasses dry, and ends up relying on Elias to guide him when the rain makes it somewhat impossible to see through them. By the time they make it inside the lenses are so steamed just by entering the room he's even more blind than before, missing the doorman and most of where they're going as he just allows Elias to lead. 

(He trusts him more and more, he realizes quietly and just as quietly dismisses for the moment. Thoughts of trust always reminded him of things like body counts, and for god's sake he just wanted to have this. Just for a moment.)

He pulls off his glasses as Elias tries jamming the door, realizing rather suddenly that yes, it wasn't as though they had swimsuits and yes, he had agreed to this without a second thought. He can't help a soft laugh at it, everything reminding him rather firmly of the sort of rushed romances of University, with the young and hopeless. Of course they weren't so young anymore, though he admits he was still rather hopeless.

"Your definition of help could use some work," Jon informs him, as if he wasn't leaning into Elias' hands and making the entire task that much harder. He does wrestle out of his shirt, letting it drop to floor with a wet plop before giving up and kissing Elias again, shoving his useless glasses up and out of the way.

 

Jon's skin is rain-clammy under his exploring fingers, so it isn't long until the newly-growing instinct to care for him rears its head, and then Elias' hands stop wandering greedily and actually help, divesting Jon of his trousers. "You're freezing," he says when the kiss breaks, "Get in the tub before you catch your death."

Elias, meanwhile, has a fair amount to take off, a rushed reversal of this morning's slow dressing. He's so soaked that even his _underwear_ is soggy, and he squints in concern at his phone even though it's the kind of expensive that claims to the splashproof. 

Ignoring his own nudity despite the fact that he's visibly interested in climbing in with Jon, Elias gathers up their damp clothes and quite practically finds somewhere to drape them that they might dry off a little. But that's the work of a moment, and then he slips into the hot tub, groaning softly as he sinks his whole body into the heat. 

"Yes," he murmurs, finally advancing on Jon once more. "Yes, that's much better. Now where were we." Devouring each other's mouths and having a lot of feelings about it, is where.

 

Jon looks slightly put out at being stopped, though a shiver convinces him Elias is correct and he rolls his eyes but does as he's told. He'd probably not be much help either with getting Elias undressed, and he places his glasses safely aside before climbing in.

And exhaling in contentment at the temperature. "You're a very smart man sometimes," he informs Elias, sinking down to his shoulders for a moment to try and soak up as much heat as he can. "Even if this is rather more public than I'd usually find comfortable."

When Elias climbs in he drifts over, more than happy to run his now warm fingers through Elias' soggy hair. He smiles into the kiss, the image of Elias with his rainswept hair far more endearing than it should be. When he pulls back his breath has a hitch as he wraps his arms around Elias' shoulders just to stay close. "Being rather trite, if I recall."

 

"Always such a cynic. Next time," says Elias direly, "I'm going to take you somewhere horrific and kiss you _there_ ," and there is perhaps just a touch of petulance in his tone. "Then perhaps you'll start to appreciate _trite_." What a strange threat to make.

Despite this ominous proclamation, Elias is still being very trite, hands spanning over Jon's shoulders just to enjoy the feel of them. It's intimate, bathing together like this, in a way he hadn't really expected: Jon is flushed with heat, eyes somehow darker and more liquid without the glasses, hair slick and the sight of him is like a kick to the solar plexus. All the little marks Elias has given him are on display, and perhaps he should have shaved this morning after all because he can see that Jon is going to be the one getting sandpapered.

"Has anyone ever told you," he murmurs all husky, "That you're very attractive when you're being a fussy bastard?"

 

Jon can't help a soft laugh at that, despite knowing it wouldn't exactly be unlike Elias to make good on a threat like that. This was the cocky bastard dramatic enough to leave a nice, neat enveloped statement by a corpse for him to find. Really, he should be getting so used to this nonsense that his first reaction is amusement.

He kisses at the petulance, humming in quiet contentment despite his neverending complaints. It's a little beyond strange- one moment remembering the corpse Elias led him to find, the next smiling against his lips because Elias kissed him in the rain and admitted he cared. Whiplash was a good word for it, unease to worry all buried rather heavily under a warm happiness he can't bring himself to deny.

"Absolutely no one," he answers, finally pulling back enough to regard Elias' rather than continuing to steal kisses between breaths. "You're a singularly peculiar individual, so I can't say I'm surprised. And-" he shifts to run a hand over Elias' unshaven jaw, other arm still hooked around him. "I rather like trite when it comes to you," he admits.

 

That just makes Elias want him closer, hauling Jon into his lap regardless of the disturbance to the water. He keeps saying these romantic little things that Elias doesn't know what to do with: it's easier when they're couched in sharpness, but this is all vulnerability, Jon touching his face and looking all sincere. Still so much heart in there, his Archivist. Elias presses a gentle hand over it, on the left side of Jon's chest.

"Both singularly peculiar and romantically unoriginal, am I?" Elias teases (though Jon's right on both counts — a lot of Elias' attempts at being human are echoes of memory, not always his own, and he magpie-borrows liberally from what worked for other people. Perhaps that's sociopathic, to imitate so sincerely, but he does it because he wants Jon to be happy, and to be his. What else is love?)

"Honestly, it's not like we've done any of this properly," he points out. "If you really want trite you'll have to let me take you to dinner."

 

"Well, maybe your age is showing." Jon shifts once planted in Elias' lap, taking a sharp intake of breath when the position proves rather intimate. "It ah- it's that old fashioned fixation on the classics, I'm sure."

The bit about dinner makes him chuckle, hand moving from tracing the faint stubble of Elias' jaw to ghosting fingertips over his lips. "See? Old fashioned. Not that I would say no, mind you, as long as it's not Hungarian." Eat shit, Georgie. He presses his thumb over Elias' bottom lip, to the corner of his mouth, shifting in his lap as he sighs.

"Lord, even now I want to ask you a million questions. Not even about the typical nonsense we argue over, just... everything. I want to _know_ you, I've never- I've always been curious about people's stories but not like this, not just... all of the person," he murmurs, almost as though he hopes Elias will have some answer to this, something neat and easy to categorize. That was so very rare, lately.

 

It's true — Elias is old-fashioned. He would be even before the long memory and the silver spoon in his mouth. He sort of forgets Jon is actually just this side of a millennial, that their age gap is actually ... well, it would be inappropriately significant if they were starting this a decade ago. Mostly he just thinks of Jon as his Archivist and therefore sort of eternal.

Jon touches his face, shifts them together like he isn't even conscious of doing it — Elias drops a hand below the water to hold his hip and steady him, mostly so he can concentrate on something other than the brush of skin on intimate skin. 

"There's a lot of me," Elias warns him. It doesn't surprise him, really, that Jon wants to know: he's complicated and private and supernatural, that's basically Archivist-bait. "And you already know more than — most. But I'll answer anything you put to me." And then his mouth gets cocky, curving under Jon's fingers. "You'll owe me, though. Knowledge isn't free, Archivist."

 

"I want to know more than _anyone_ ," Jon replies, surprises himself with the feeling behind it that most certainly wasn't entirely human or entirely him. It makes his breath catch in his throat, alarmed for a moment before he exhales, the flash of tension in his shoulders draining quickly in the warm water.

"And what do you want for it then?" He asks, trying to regain his bearings and finding it easier than it should be. "For the story of that scar, to be precise," he slides his hand off Elias' mouth and down to his stomach, to the scar in question. Given their position it's more than a little risque but it certainly got the point across.

 

Elias can't deny he's surprised by that vehemence, the possessiveness and inhumanity of it. Surprised, yes — but delighted, as well. For all Jon awakens something painfully human in him, something he thought was completely excised, Elias longs to have companionship in his monstrousness and always has. 

Jon's hand slips downwards, and Elias thinks it's going to go further before it stops at the gut scar, easily the most obvious one on his body.

He wants to refuse. It's in him, to refuse. Just a reflexive response, his privacy and paranoia both. But he wasn't allowed to keep any of himself for himself when the Eye had demanded it — why now should Jon be any different? 

Beholding had repaid him in power, Elias' favourite currency. But for Jon? "Hm," he considers, sandy lashes low as he looks down between them to Jon's fingers on the old pucker. His hand rises from Jon's hip and touches the scar pattern on his side, the one he feels particularly possessive of. Maybe it seems like that's what he's going to ask for, some sex thing, all blood and marks. A scar for a scar.

"Marry me," he says quietly instead. "Go through with it, move in with me, and you can have all my stories for free."

 

Jon clearly wasn't expecting that request, eyes widening as he hand remains pressed against the scar. He stays that way for a moment, quiet before his hand returns to Elias' jaw.

"If I were to marry you it shouldn't be in exchange for stories," he finally manages, still so thrown but solemn, eyes intensely focused. He licks his lips, continues softly and in a tone that feels to him like he's damning himself. "And I would, Elias. If you asked and meant it I... I think I would."

 

If anything has ever reminded Elias that they see the world very differently, it's Jon's reaction. So startled, the same way he'd been startled (in a more outraged way) the first time Elias had brought up a wedding to the Lukas' creature. And tender, the way he looks at Elias is tender enough to flay.

"I don't have much else to offer," Elias says, without any self deprecation. "The money, obviously, but I know you don't care about that." Because that's one of the things he's very much come to appreciate about Jon, even if his lack of pretentiousness sometimes manifests as jarringly common. Elias takes the hand on his face, draws it around and kisses the palm. "But there's a part of you so hungry for knowing — has always been, even before we chose you. And I could keep it fed, if you stayed with me."

Because of course he's still negotiating, even though Jon just acquiesced.

 

Jon's lips quirk despite himself, helplessly fond because of course Elias continues to try and make a deal out of an acceptance. "I'll fight you, you know. I can't just accept sacrificing lives as a necessity, I don't want to be able to. I don't want to lose that."

Yet here he was, accepting the proposal of a man with a body count that would only continue to rise. He wonders what that says about him really, but the self depreciation is faint behind everything else the moment made him feel. "I'm saying yes, Elias. You don't have to negotiate."

 

Elias doesn't seem particularly bothered by the idea of Jon fighting him about staying uninvolved, perhaps because he expects it by now — just as he expects that once Jon is forced through enough hard choices and sees enough difficult things, he'll stop. Despite his duties, Elias would like to preserve that singularly human empathy for human life. Let Jon keep his eyes scaled, and get stroppy and upset and call Elias a cocky prick. It won't stop Elias from doing whatever he needs to do.

What Jon isn't fighting him on, though, is his request. "I know what you're saying," Elias tells him: he understands that that was effectively an agreement, not a try again later, but he doesn't understand why, all his knowledge of Jonathan and how people work effectively failing him — it's discomforting. "But — look. I know it makes sense to go through with a marriage given our situation, I just don't think you should readily agree to stay with me unless you're going to get something out of it." And he would feel more at ease if he knew exactly what that something was.

 

Jon stares at him a moment, clearly taken aback by that. "I'd get you," he says without really thinking about it, incredulous and as though the answer were an obvious one. It was to him but he supposes that it's been a while since Elias had a meaningful connection to someone else. The story about Peter nags at the edge of his thoughts and leans forward to kiss Elias, long and slow, before pulling back with a sigh.

"I enjoy falling asleep with someone there, I enjoy waking up to it as well. I enjoy our... less than innocent activities more than I should. I enjoy knowing my life outside of archiving isn't completely barren, that there's _something_ I can have despite all the dire warnings to the contrary," he explains, thumb running up and down Elias' jaw as he did. "I enjoy _you_ , you smug bastard. Your easy bossiness, all the little bits of humanity you try to hide- hell, even some of the inhuman parts. You. I wouldn't agree if I wasn't getting _you_ from this."

 

At first Elias is maybe going to protest, that he's objectively valueless, but Jon kisses him and it turns out to be a very effective way of shutting him up, because when he's kissed like that a lot of his faculties of logic seem to shut down, and he ends up staying quiet even when it breaks. 

Jon elaborates anyway.

It's Elias' turn to be taken aback, swallowing hard, and he has to take a moment even after Jon is done to properly process that litany of things Jon enjoys about him. "Oh," he says with a quiet hoarseness. "That. Does explain it then, yes." He's come over all tongue-tied, has to measure out his words slower because he doesn't like to stutter. Saves himself by kissing Jon again, ruminative and firm. Lets it go on for a while, this time, because he wants to linger in the feeling of heart-fullness that's as warm as their spa bath.

"It was when I was working in Artifacts," he says when the kiss breaks, leaning his forehead against Jon's, his eyes still closed. "A shakuhachi — a Japanese flute. We don't get a lot of foreign artifacts at the Institute, unless they're from somewhere the crown's colonized and dug around in, but I believe a private collector willed us several interesting items from Japan.

"Tape 9930109 covers the donation, and I've got the statement I made once I got out of hospital upstairs somewhere." Because he keeps a weirdly narcissistic personal collection, yes. "There's not a lot to tell. Some pipe music wasn't meant to be heard by mortals. I'm lucky to have survived the mutilation; several of my colleagues did not."

 

Jon can't help a smile, enjoying the sight of Elias tongue tied and and the closest to flustered Jon imagines he'll ever see him. He's still smiling into the kiss though it's a thorough enough distraction from the sight, enough that when he pulls back it takes Jon a moment to realize he's getting the story he asked for.

"Sounds similar to Grifter's Bone," he muses, and there's certainly some very interesting discussion about how the domains manifested in different cultures, how an isolated place like Japan might develop its own monsters so radically different yet still of the same domains. Of course that's probably not a discussion meant for lounging in hot water, naked in public and apparently now officially engaged. "I suppose past mutilation is a rather inappropriate topic for celebration of an engagement," he admits, even if he clearly has more questions. He's somewhat torn between just exploring Elias again or giving in and asking them.

 

"Nonsense," Elias answers, draping both arms over Jon's shoulders. And this is perhaps why they work so well together, because he means it. If he had most people's aversion to the grisly he probably wouldn't be very happy in his work, after all. There's no exasperation in his voice for once when he offers, "What do you want to know. You're right on the money with Grifter's Bone; their flautist was certainly Piper-touched."

 

That's an extremely tempting offer, and Jon can't help but indulge the moment Elias gives the go ahead. "Can I listen to the statement?" Preferably when Peter wasn't around, he felt strangely protective of the information. "And the flute, is it still in Artifact Storage? How did the current head manage to sweep it under the rug? I know you have some form of connection with the police, but that much death must be difficult to hide."

 

He wants the tape. Of course he wants the tape. Elias' reluctance is immediately clear on his face, but his only answer is a neutral- "We'll see." He wants to promise Jon everything, but he also doesn't want anybody to ever listen to Elias Bouchard in his early twenties, giving a shaky statement, still human enough to be affected by the loss of life.

Elias winces slightly at the further questions, though maybe not for the obvious reasons. "We— _Wright,_ that is, Wright was more than used to reporting KIA staff. Section 31 existed then as well, you know. I was interviewed —" He breaks off, shakes his head. "Sorry, there's just this small window where I worked for the Institute at the same time as Wright, before he died, and the overlap can be ... difficult." The kind of difficult that causes minor headaches. He stops rummaging through those memories. "We do still have the flute, of course."

 

Jon tries not give a slightly put out look at the 'we'll see,' nodding in reluctant acceptance that maybe some secrets weren't meant for him. Not that it'd remotely stop him from trying, greedy with the idea of hearing Elias when he was only Elias Bouchard and no one else.

The wince cools his fervor somewhat, and he reaches up, pressing his fingers soothingly to Elias' temples in the way he did to himself when headaches threatened. "Is it just their memories you have?" he asks, still not entirely sure how the Head of the Institute bit worked besides the vague and obvious. "Or do their personalities remain even slightly?"

 

Elias leans in and kisses him briefly before he answers, just because — Jonathan is sweet to him, and he's still really deeply affected by it. "I've too strong a sense of myself to let them, I think," Elias admits. Benefits of privilege — perhaps that had also made him an optimal vessel. "It's too complicated for an easy answer— they aren't distinct and separate men in me, fighting to use my voice and my body. But I could wholly be them, if I needed to." If he wanted to, which he generally does not.

He tips his face into Jon's hand, something affectionate in his eyes, and then draws his hands back to run from shoulders down over the heat flushed span of Jon's chest. "Remembering those rare occasions when we interacted... imagine watching the same scene in a film from two directions at once, overlapping on the screen, audio just a touch out of sync, some details different enough to be jarring but neither one distinct enough to easily watch and tune out the other." So. A headache. Though he's ignoring it in favour of touching Jon now, willing to do both hot tub explorations and answer all of Jon's endless questions, simultaneously, at once.

 

Jon finds himself glad to hear that- the idea of losing Elias to some abominable amalgamation of personalities was a new and alarming note of horror to consider. He's rather glad the Archivist doesn't work the same way, doesn't care to imagine sitting in Elias' lap with Gertrude's death throes somewhere in the back of his skull.

"I think I understand, or at least to some degree. Taking statements can be... confusing, when my focus isn't as it should be," he admits, hands still at Elias' temples, though now he runs them both through Elias' hair as if brushing it out. The act makes his lips quirk, hands heading down and to the back of Elias' neck, pressing into what tension he can find there. "You mentioned you had a childhood encounter as well, which domain was it?"

 

Elias closes his eyes and tips his head: the hot water already has gone a long way to relaxing him, Jon's working fingers just icing on that cake. He hums, apparently still willing to keep giving up all his secrets. " _Mensonges_ , on _Mont-Saint-Michel_ ," Elias says: he has a good accent. "The Spiral." He drops his hands to Jon's thighs beneath the water and squeezes, thumbs tracking slowly up the sensitive inner skin to his groin.

 

The answer is both surprising and not at all- it certainly explained Elias' distaste when he spoke of the Spiral before, and Jon could imagine any meeting with the Spiral would lead one to a drug induced haze to try to forget. He nods, though he's not sure if Elias can see it, fingers still pressing though now travelled to his shoulders and collar. 

"That- _ah_ -" he can't help a little noise at Elias' slow touch, the distraction throwing him off whatever he was going to say for a few moments until he licks his lips and tries to recover. "I'm glad you didn't end up lost. I'll even spare the further questioning, for now." _For now_ being the important thing there. "Unless you feel like sharing?"

And yes, that question has a teasing edge of compulsion, very pointedly so. He wondered vaguely how the Eye felt about his rather liberal use of the skill in the bedroom setting, but decides he really did not want to know the answer to that particular question.

 

It's like Jon just licked down the length of his spine: Elias closes his eyes, hums, pleased. "I'll indulge you however you like," Elias tells him honestly, the smile that crosses his lips when his eyes open distinctly dirty. "But perhaps don't ask me to tell you all about my childhood while we're..."

The end of that sentence is illustrative rather than innuendo, as his hands slide higher and his thumb brushes Jon's balls, then up the crease of his groin to his hips again, settling him in closer.

 

"Mmm, yes that... may be best suited for later," Jon admits, leaning his head down to Elias' shoulder to muffle a sound there. He exhales against the skin when Elias' touch passes, pressing a trail of kisses up his neck to his jaw. "Your stubble is going to leave marks if we keep this up," he complains, yet that didn't stop him even slightly from chasing Elias' lips for a kiss.

When pulls back he places a hand on Elias' chest, letting it slide lower though he stops and settles high on his stomach. "I haven't really had the chance to touch you yet," he says, much less awkward than his typical though a hint of it is still there. "Though practically in public may not be the best place for it." Here seemed better than back upstairs with Peter anywhere near.

 

"I was a bit too distracted to properly shave," Elias informs him acidicly, but also he's privately quite determined to leave as much of Jon's skin as possible pink with stubble burn. So he kisses back quite thoroughly.

"I'm game if you are," Elias says cheerfully — if you think he's letting you out of this hot tub unmolested, Jon, you're mistaken. There isn't a modest bone in his body. So if Jon wants to slide that hand a little lower, Elias will let him, pressing encouraging kisses down his neck. "If we try to do this upstairs," he murmurs, "We're going to be propositioned for a threesome." Instead they're just going to return looking like they went for it in public like idiot teenagers.

 

Jon scoffs at that, but his hand does move lower as he shifts back slightly, giving slightly more room between them. "Somehow I'm not surprised by either of those comments. It'd almost be worth getting caught to see you talk your way out of it." He runs his fingers gently over the scar when he reaches it, a mark with some meaning now. " _Almost_."

He holds Elias' arm to keep balance as he grasps his cock, eyes darting back up to Elias' face he tests his grip, the movement of it, trying to read exactly what Elias preferred. The water makes it somewhat strange but easier for skin to slide against skin, and he wonders briefly if their position may be too unruly before dismissing it. He wants to be close, each pull of his hand brushing against his own cock, able to feel whatever twitch or shudder Elias' body gives in return.

"How's this?" He asks, compulsion of course, and the quirk of his lips make the intent obvious.

 

Elias sucks in a wet breath, when Jon touches him. He holds Jon steady, one hand staying at his hip in a tight clutch, and he resists the urge to thrust — or to move at all, still under Jon's explorations. His other hand, though, finds Jon's hand and guides it, just a little.

"Like this," he says, moving Jon's hand over the shaft, encouraging his grip tighter, showing him how he likes it. When it's perfect he lets go, lifts his dripping hand out of the water to cup the back of Jon's neck, warm water trickling down his spine. "That's good. That's excellent."

Though his physical reactions tend to be a touch muted, Elias isn't holding anything back — Elias has talked his way out of worse things in this building than public obscenity, so he isn't shy about moaning softly, or giving in to the shivering ripple of pleasure he gets at Jon's voice. If he keeps doing that it's going to end up Pavlovian and he'll start to get hard just listening to Jon talk, which could make work difficult.

 

Jon follows those instructions, going about the whole thing with close attention and curiosity probably more suited for work than sexual encounters. Still, it does mean he picks up on Elias' preferences quickly, between the coaching and bright eyed interest he pins Elias with, watching each shift in breath and expression intensely.

Between that and the praise he shivers himself, slowly escalating the pace though keeping it somewhat languid, as if he was drawing this out. "I'm so very fond of you," he finds himself saying with a slightly breathless laugh. He's always found it difficult to admit such things so it's freeing to be able to say as much so blatantly. "The way you sound like this is... rather addictive."

 

Elias relaxes into Jon's touch, enough that his lashes flutter shut even though he wants to watch. But they open again when Jon speaks, eyebrow lifting in amusement (though his eyes have gone soft at that little reminder of Jon caring for him, god he's so in trouble).

"The way I sound," Elias murmurs, voice gone chocolate. "Remind me to set up a tape recorder the next time I fuck you so you can hear the kind of noises you make, Archivist." He curls forward, close enough to kiss, avid. "They're very good."

He does press their mouths together then, a little more sloppy than usual because he's still focused on Jon's hand working him, the tension stringing tightly through his abdomen. When he pulls back it's to look at Jon with unabashed affection, squeeze the back of his neck lightly. It's nice, to be tended to — simple and easy in the way nothing else in his life is.

"Maybe I'll do it in your office sometime," adds Elias like an afterthought, continuing his train of thought from earlier despite long minutes of derailment. His eyes are lidded, though, intent. "See what you sound like when you know you have to be quiet."

 

Jon shudders at that, giving something of a petulant look and a gentle squeeze. "We're supposed to be focusing on _you_ and your sounds," he answers, though there's a quality to the tone that says he's hardly adverse to the ideas.

It's harder now to ignore his own damn arousal, so with a pause to shift himself into a more suitable position he changes his grip to grab himself as well. It's hardly perfect in any way yet he still breaths out sharply, the feeling of Elias' cock sliding against his as he strokes them both, the glide smoother in the warm water.

He groans into Elias' mouth, arm hooking behind Elias' neck so he wouldn't fall back. "Your... composure, it's unfair," even now he has to complain, uselessly and breathy.

 

A low noise at the introduction of Jon's cock, and Elias bites at his mouth to demonstrate exactly how much composure he has. "You're unraveling it very _quickly_ , I assure you," he tells Jon, something throaty in his voice. 

This shouldn't be as good as it is. It's just _bodies_ , and Elias knows exactly what nerves are sparking, what chemicals burst into his bloodstream to make him feel this heady. Except — it's Jon's hand, and Jon wants him, and Elias— 

He slips his hand around Jon's hip, and like this when they're so close together it's no effort at all to press into Jon, where the muscle is pliant from heat and perhaps ah, residual use. One finger, then two, just giving him something to grind onto as he works to get them both off. 

"Not long now," he promises, between kisses along Jon's jaw. Then, slightly disgruntled: "I can't believe you're going to make me come in a hot tub." Because that is — well, it doesn't disgust him, but he can't deny it's immature. He's several decades past the point where he can get away with stupid romantic liaisons like this, and yet, and yet.

The heat of it all leaves him dizzy, and when it seizes him he draws in a sharp breath and holds it, trembling, before it stutters out of him in guttural vowel-sounds, and he clutches Jon close and tight as all that tension snaps into orgasm.

 

The sound Jon makes when Elias presses in is most certainly not a noise for public spaces, one Jon tries to catch by biting his bottom lip and succeeds only in tapering off into a softer, still hopelessly lewd sound. His fingers tighten around them, pacing beginning to lose its steadiness and increase in speed in a sloppy way.

The comment from Elias has Jon laughing breathlessly though, such an easy humour in the intimacy it would surprise him if he had the brainpower for such a thing. Lord, when was the last time he laughed easily during sex? Or out of it, really, and the kiss he presses into Elias' lips is sloppy and half missed, landing slightly to the side of his mouth.

"Fussy bastard," he murmurs into Elias' skin, tone full of fondness and knowing irony. 

He's not far after Elias, inordinately proud not to give in first in truly ridiculous way, muffling a cry into Elias' neck. He pants against the skin there, the pace of his hand slowing and ultimately ceasing. When it did he let out a long, contented breath, one that gave way to a soft kiss against Elias' pulse as he shakily pulled his hand out of the water to embrace him fully.

 

Elias wraps him up in return, both arms. "Sweet man," he murmurs, very quiet beneath the noise of the water, just a vibration against Jon's skin. He can't remember the last time he was this relaxed, sated by sex and warmed through by the soak, and some vicious possessiveness quieted.

He drags a hand down Jon's spine just for the feel of it, kisses Jon's shoulder and then rests his forehead there, just lingering in the pleasure-shaky quiet between them. "I'm very fond of you too," he informs him belatedly, pressing a smile to Jon's collarbone.

 

The words spark something warm and sweet in Jon's chest, have him trying to press closer despite how close they already were. He toys with Elias hair, the ends at the back of his neck, still smiling softly and secret. He couldn't begin to remember the last time he felt as relaxed and content, the only moments that stuck out in comparison were the ones with Elias in the days prior. Ridiculous, he thinks fondly, truly absurd.

"Well, public sex in a hot tub is much less trite, I'll admit," he says when he catches his breath more fully, fingers still playing with Elias' hair. "Ridiculous, yes, but not trite."

 

Who knew that the obstinate, cranky Jonathan Sims had the capacity to be so affectionately cuddly? Elias likes him like this, though, and likes knowing he's responsible. He wonders privately if getting Jon off on the regular might have the side benefit of making him a little less difficult in the workplace — if it might be enough to improve team morale overall.

"I'll endeavour to avoid romantic cliche in the future, then," Elias lies. He lifts his head, takes Jon's chin and urges him up for a gentle kiss, just a coda. "I'd offer to tell you some more horror stories, but we are really starting to push the boundaries of politeness with our absence. We probably ought to go back up for the afternoon."

 

Jon sighs, reluctantly beginning to untangle. "Yes, I suppose you're right, unfortunately. Wouldn't want to give the man reason to be more trouble than he already is."

He leans in for one last kiss before pulling away entirely, climbing off Elias and out of the hot tub to the towels. He dries himself off, shivering at the chill of being out of the warm water as he hands Elias towel as well. "Is there ah... something I can do to make this more bearable? Just given your history I can't imagine this is a particularly pleasant experience." Slightly awkward, of course, can't show concern without it being slightly like pulling teeth.

 

Elias briefly considers pretending that Jon is talking about an easy discomfort, that of getting back into their damp clothes (a difficulty Elias is going to solve by not doing so at all: once he's dry he wraps one towel around his waist, slings another around his shoulders, and gathers up his things.)

But he knows exactly to what Jon refers, even if he's not sure he has a good answer. "It's fine," he says, dismissing any discomfort Peter brings him. Honestly, his biggest weakness is Jon himself — this will be the second time he'll go to meet Peter all deshabille from their intimacies, and while to some degree it's a power play, flaunting his vulnerability, he can't deny that it would be easier if Jon weren't here dragging all his human bits to the surface.

"Just," he says, coming close to Jon again, touching him idly and aimlessly, just to be touching. "Remember we're on the same side in this. Presenting a strong alliance." A Beholding power couple. "But you can always text me."

Which he's framing as something he's putting in place to make this more bearable for Jon, but. It's not.

 

Jon picks up his own clothes, frowning at the damp though soon thoroughly distracted by Elias' answer. He leans into the touch, something he no longer finds himself wanting to fight, and considers. 

"I suppose it helps that he's the one who wants something here," Jon knows enough to understand they at least had that power, though how to utilize it in any way was Elias' wheelhouse, not his. Texting though, that he could handle. "All right. If it helps I'll make the habit."

Then he glances Elias over. "... are you going to go up like that?"

 

"I am," says Elias, quirking a brow. "My clothes are still wet, you see." Congratulations, Jonathan, your fiancee is shameless. 

In fairness, it's not that far from the pool to the lift, so the only person who's actually likely to see Elias like this, apart from Jon, is the Lukas in his flat, and he got to see just as much leg this morning — has seen a lot more than that in the past. Elias just breezes through to his bedroom to dress like it's no big deal.

 

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Jon answers dryly, and does put on his damp clothes. It is extremely uncomfortable, surprising no one, but at least Peter Lukas doesn't get a peek.


	5. peter lukas' offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Content includes: Threesome, BDSM, Bound Hands, Blindfolds, Gags, Blowjobs, Deep-throating, Face-fucking, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Sloppy Seconds.

Peter is lounging on the couch when they came up. He lets out a low whistle when he sees their state, chuckling when Jonathan at least has the shame to flush and hurry to bedroom. He can't even give Elias a hard time, it wasn't like coming back rumpled and clearly in the afterglow would have been much better.

He gets changed, considers how nice it would be to not have all this nonsense in their lives and have the option of taking a nap. He seriously thinks over trying to convince Elias to stay in here with him, leave Peter Lukas unattended again for a few pointed hours, but knows too well it wouldn't be a good decision, as tempting as it was.

So he leaves the room, and despite being prepared for comments he can't help but flush again when Peter remarks, "You know, if you're going to leave me so long to go have fun you could at least extend an invitation. I wouldn't say no to watching- you lot like that sort of thing, don't you?"

 

Is it too early to start drinking? Elias imagines Peter would be vastly less grating after a few glasses of whiskey. Though if it was just the two of them he would probably weather it all right — it's Peter baiting him using Jon that gets his hackles up.

"I told you, didn't I," he remarks to Jon, who is actually blushing — charming man. This play for a threesome is an incredibly predictable one, but his boredom with it is slightly marred by the fact that he never actually really stopped being attracted to the gregarious shitheel sprawled on his sofa, however much he bitterly resents him.

"Generally I prefer to be the one watching," says Elias, which is true. He watches Jon's expression carefully for a moment. "So it's not really my decision to make. I do apologize for getting so caught up — the rain surprised us. Would you both like some lunch? I think there's sandwiches."

 

"Oh ho, so you'd prefer watching me have my wicked way with your fiance instead?" Peter teases, alarmingly good natured and almost fond given what Jon now knew of their relationship. Frankly it made the tone all the more chilling somehow (though, of course, he can't help some interest in this conversation because he is always interested in things that are bad for him, he's come to realize.) "I think he'd be lovely tied and blindfolded- sensory deprivation and all that. You know me, Elias, I'm nothing if not terribly predictable. But I do know how to put on a show."

"I need a drink," And that's about as red as Jon can get before retreating to make himself a gin and tonic, heavy on the gin, thanks. Peter laughs, turning to focus on Elias now that Jon escaped.

"A sandwich would be lovely, Elias. Such a good host, once you've taken care of your own needs."

 

Elias catches the spark of Jon's interest before he goes, notes it, tucks it away for later discussion. Right now he's going to be a _good host_. 

"I don't have needs, Peter, you know that. But I'm afraid my Archivist takes precedence over just about anything else." It's oddly liberating to be able to just say that, aloud — still in Jon's earshot, even. Anyway, having thoroughly established Peter's place in the pecking order here, he goes to put the sandwich triangles in the fridge onto some plates, and also fix himself a drink.

"Tell me if you're uncomfortable," he murmurs to Jon as he does so, touching a hand lightly to the small of his back. "I can't kill him for it, but I do have a couple of items to hand that he wouldn't enjoy having used on him."

 

"His _needs_ then," Peter corrects, watching Elias head away with an obvious interest in the proceedings and everything surrounding it. Needless to say he's been surprised more than once, and finds it somewhat delightful. Mostly.

Jon, of course, is busy overthinking things as is his custom. He catches my Archivist and feels something far too warm for such a statement, a feeling that cuts through his thoughts for a few moments peace as Elias approaches. He can't help an amused exhale at the offer, and thinks how he should be much more put off at the casual way Elias speaks of killing and retribution.

"I can't say that's not tempting," he admits, though maybe not for the reasons Elias thinks. Ever since the story Elias told he's been harboring an intense dislike for Peter Lukas, a protective sort of irritation for what he put Elias through. All the more reason his flare of interest at what was mentioned has him twisted up. "But no, I'm... it's just overwhelming. I'm not as shameless as you two."

Aka he's uptight as shit. He reaches for the whiskey to make Elias his drink, assuming correctly he could use one as well. "Would you really be interested in that?" he asks, not making eye contact as he pours the drink, though there's genuine curiosity in his tone. "Watching?"

 

Elias leans an elbow on the bar, looks down at his own hand for a moment, studying his nails. Then looks back up at Jon, studying _him_ with far more intensity.

"Sometimes I think you're the only person who can still surprise me," Elias says, which isn't an answer at all, he's just... he's still carrying a lot of feelings with him after this morning, and the fact that Jon isn't all disgust and refusal is making them flare up again.

"But yes," he admits. "I would. I am." He accepts the glass when it's handed to him, gratefully, but doesn't drink from it, stepping in close instead, voice dropping. "Does that surprise you? It shouldn't. Voyeurism is what I am. And... I know better than to think Peter Lukas could be a threat to me, when it comes to what you want." Always so self-assured. Honestly, Jon's dislike of the man only helps — he'd be a lot more territorial around someone like Martin or Tim.

 

"I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing in your book," Jon answers, passing him a glass of whiskey before turning to regard him more fully. The fluster is still very much, an edge to his tone that says he very much can't believe he's considering this let alone _agreeing._ He's been surprising himself a lot lately, and maybe it's his priorities shifting after so many near death experiences.

(In reality he suspects, with no small amount of fear, that his very human inhibitions were growing weaker and weaker against the need to _experience_ like an Archivist should. It's laughable of course, imagining he's agreeing to more intense sexual experiences because of some unknowable being's steady influence on him, but he still can't help but wonder under the scorn.)

Still, Elias' ready agreement certainly helps his nerves, making him glance in the direction of their guest before back at Elias. "I'm... curious," he settles for. "I suppose I'm surprised you'd be all right with it being him less than the voyeurism. That's certainly expected."

 

Now curiosity, that is _very_ Jon, and Elias smiles, sips his drink. Apparently content to just leave Peter waiting for his lunch while he makes soft eyes at Jon.

Although, it turns out Elias Bouchard does still have the capacity for shame: it's his turn to flush, clear his throat. "Don't mistake my feelings for anything but antipathy. But Peter's always been very... _je ne sais quoi_ ," Elias admits in an embarrassed murmur. What's worse, he knows Peter knows that Elias still finds him attractive; it's why he's _here_.

 

Well ok, Jon can't help a soft quirk of the lips at that slip of embarrassment. Elias was always so very fascinating when his humanity and emotions peaked through, and Jon shifts closer to press a hand to Elias' side.

"I want you to know I'm resisting the urge to tease you about this," he informs Elias quietly, which is teasing in and of itself but he's going to ignore that. "I suppose that's fair. He's... compelling in his own way, I admit. I think I'm more ah... interested in you watching." There's the fluster again. Peter wasn't unattractive by any means but yes, Jon is fairly certain he wouldn't be all that interested if Elias hadn't shown interest first.

 

Elias kisses him for that — for all of that, the teasing as much as the response. He keeps it chaste, though. He might be okay with letting Peter touch Jon, but he's feeling protective of their intimacies, now. He doesn't think he'd want anybody watching them together.

"Duly noted," says Elias. "I'll leave the decision in your hands. But perhaps let's sleep on it." Because he wants them to be certain, wants Jon to be certain. And maybe tonight, when they have some real privacy, Elias can work through some ways to communicate non-verbally, so he can step in if needed.

 

"That would be the sensible thing to do," Jon admits, somewhat grateful for some time to process even if it would throw him straight into deeply overthinking everything. It was a sight better than rushing in and doing something regretful. "And making him wait is appealing."

There's a hint of dryness there, that dislike of Peter peaking through. The conversation calmed him enough returning to the living room with his drink doesn't fluster him again, even when Peter quirks a knowing eyebrow in his direction. Despite his general attitude towards their guest he's more than happy to sit down and begin grilling him on a few matters, both intent of information and giving Elias some peace.

Of course he does need to use the restroom at some point, and when he goes to do so Peter fixes Elias with a curious look. "You've surprised me, Elias."

 

Elias is ostensibly busy, having once again split his time between working on something, this time on a tablet, and keeping an eye on Peter and Jon's interactions. He looks up when addressed, however, guarded. "How so?"

 

"When I heard about this I assumed you were just being protective," Peter explains, stretching his arms above his head as though this couch and penthouse were as safe a place for him as any. "Not unlike you, especially with a new Archivist. I mean, Gertrude was never your Archivist, was she, Elias? Not like this one. Of course you'd be irritated about having to share when you've finally let him leave the nest, completely understandable.

"But," he continues, letting his arms drop as he pins Elias with a deceptively placid look, "that's not all, yeah? You actually seem to care. I've seen love on you, you've always worn it well, you know? All this reminds me of the old days," he shakes his head with a soft sigh. "I thought I helped you through that phase."

 

Perhaps it's because he's been opening himself up to Jon, but that gets to him. The old days. A phase. Elias frowns slightly. Perhaps it's worse because he knows Peter is right, that caring is a luxury he cannot afford. That he continually breaks his own policy of non-interference to see that Jon is kept safe. What happens if Jon turns against the Institute the way Gertrude did? 

He hasn't had time to wrestle with all of that yet, and he doesn't have a good answer. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "But I'm afraid nothing I had with you was ever the equivalent of the relationship I have with my Archivist. How could it be? We're connected by a force far, far greater than love."

 

"But there is love," Peter points out, gaze sharpening as he leans to rest his elbows on his knees. "It's a double edged sword, isn't it? If there wasn't I'd be within my rights to report back and say he's ripe for the ritual, if there was- _is_ \- you're both going to suffer beautifully. You can't win, eh Elias?"

He shakes his head like it was a tragedy, the kind that are more entertaining than sorrowful because you've seen it so many times before. "I admit, I'm thrilled beyond words. No matter how this ends it's going to be..." he closes his eyes as if relishing the image, opening them again with a fond smile, "Well, just as lovely as when you came stumbling back to the world of people, probably more so."

 

Elias swallows hard, going still, spine like an iron bar and shoulders tense. "I can weather a little suffering," he says, and the _for him_ is strongly implied — so perhaps love on Elias looks like desperate stoicism, loyalty beyond reason.

What he hates most is how weak he is to Peter's gleeful sadism: he at once wants to punch him in the face and climb into his lap. Probably this is how Jon feels about him half the time.

"I can weather a lot of suffering," he adds, a little more reflexively, because he doesn't actually disagree.He knows how much this is going to hurt. Losing Jon is almost an inevitability. It surprises him to find that even acknowledging that to himself he still wants it, wants to give Jon some fraction of the companionship he still longs for, protect him from the ravages of he job. "I think perhaps," he says firmly, "You had better change the subject now."

 

"Can he weather the same?" Peter asks, all fond amusement so misplaced in the atmosphere it's rather jarring. If he had anything else to say, if he was going to push Elias' limits or respectfully move on, he doesn't have the chance. Not with Jon walking back in, ignorant the tension up until he notices a rigid quality to Elias' shoulders that most certainly was not there before.

He walks over, frowning in concern he should likely try and hide to some degree, and places a hand on Elias' back. A strong united front, Elias said, and really he couldn't say he had any well thought out reason for walking between them other than the kneejerk reaction to. He didn't care to glance over and see whatever amusement Peter held at that.

"Let's retire early tonight," he suggests, tone dry around the edges when he continues. "I'm sure Mr. Lukas can entertain himself for a few hours."

"You wound me, Archivist. Peter, please," Peter calls from the couch.

 

Elias wants to argue that Jon won't have to weather the same, that Elias is going to keep him safe and sane until one of them dies. But Jon comes back from the bathroom and it's like he's the one trying to protect Elias. Sweet, but unnecessary.

Still: a united front. So he agrees with Jon's idea however reluctant he is to stage a retreat. There's an innate urge to be a better host, but with Peter particularly that's easy to ignore. He's not much for standing on formality. 

"I trust I won't be awoken tomorrow by Nathaniel just showing up in my home," he says dryly to Peter. "I'll only let that sort of rudeness slide once." And not without reprimand, apparently. But yes, all right, it's time to say good night and take refuge in the sanctuary of his bedroom.

 

"I'm tempted to call him up just to see what punishment you have in mind," Peter tells him with easy good humour before shaking his head. "No worries Elias, I wouldn't share this with any of them. You know they'd never appreciate it the way they should."

When they do retreat Jon frowns as soon as the door closes, glancing back to it. "Lord, he's a handful. Are you all right?"

 

"Five minutes with that grinning idiot and I have a headache again," mutters Elias, collapsing forward onto the bed without bothering to undress. He just faceplants into the mattress, groaning a little as his whole back twinges in protest. This morning he was so relaxed, but his body won't settle in Peter's presence, a wound spring constantly ready to snap shut at the first sign of danger.

"You didn't have to do that though, you know," he tells the pillows, turning his head but not quite able to get Jon in his direct line of sight — and there are no eyes in this room, not even in the surreal and grotesque triptych over his bed. "I can wrangle Peter Lukas. And I'd rather his attention be on me than you."

 

Jon follows, lips quirking despite himself at the display as he sits next to him. He runs a hand down Elias' back, a light scratching through his no doubt expensive as hell clothes. "And I'd rather neither of us be alone with him, that seems the most dangerous situation at the moment." He was very glad he hasn't had to deal with Peter by himself, that's for sure. If it only took him five minutes to get under Elias' skin Jon couldn't imagine.

"You're the one who said united front, I'll remind you. All I can do is pester with questions, so pester with questions I will. Maybe he'll let something of use slip."

 

Elias sighs softly under the touch, pillowing his head on one arm. "I've plenty of experience handling him one on one," he says firmly, because Peter had upset him, but not in a way Elias couldn't bear. "And you... well, just keep your tape recorder on you."

But he isn't telling Jon not to pester or compel their guest anymore, so apparently he has accepted that as a good strategy after all.

 

"I have no doubt you could handle it, you realize. My concern is it's upsetting regardless," Jon says, tone dry. "After this afternoon I hope it's clear I generally care about that sort of thing. Part and parcel of the whole business, as it were."

He keeps up the movement of his hand as he speaks, relaxing himself slowly back to something a little less defensive now that they were alone. "At the very least he seems to accept we're 'bound,' so far."

 

Elias chuckles into his forearm, then twists a little so he can smile at Jon. "Ah yes, of course. The whole business." Of being _very fond_ , he assumes. Lord help them both.

He decides not to share with Jon that Peter is gleefully anticipating their relationship's tragic end. Or how likely he is to be correct. "Speaking of earlier," he says instead, "If you give me a backrub, I'll answer some more of your questions." Mm, bribery. The best part is knowing that even after Jon knows Elias fully, there's still going to be so much knowledge to tempt him with that it's Biblical.

 

Jon huffs an amused breath at the bribe, shifting so he can face Elias more fully. "You know you can just ask. I may even do it for free." He rests his palm against the small of Elias' back. "Though far be it from me to say no to the offer. Take off your shirt, if we're doing this we may as well do it right."

Not that he has ulterior motives there, no sir. Not him.

 

"I just still feel as though I need to override your self-preservation instincts," jokes Elias. "But I think perhaps you don't have many to start with." 

Elias hauls himself reluctantly up, strips to the waist without being showy about it — tosses the shirt aside like he isn't usually a meticulous folder. From there, though, it's not very far to catch Jon's mouth in a kiss, stroking lightly down his cheek. It's just brief, affectionate — maybe a little bit of a reminder to himself, that he has this, can just have this. He doesn't say anything else about it when it breaks, just lies back down on the bed again, tugging a pillow closer to scrunch it beneath his chin.

 

"No, not particularly," Jon has to admit, because he certainly wouldn't be here at all if he did. A smarter man would likely have never joined the Institute to begin with, yet here they were.

He shifts again, straddling Elias' hips so he had a good angle to work from. He's quiet at first, concentrating on running his hands down Elias' back and finding spots of tension, brow furrowed at his task as if it were a serious one. After deciding to start with a spot low on Elias' neck Jon digs his fingers in firmly. Despite being something of a disaster man in most areas he's taking this task with probably comic seriousness.

"Do you want to talk about you encounter with the Spiral?" He asks after he's started. "I can't promise I won't ask in the future, sooner rather than later, but I am capable of holding off at least for now."

 

"Hm." Elias is humming in thought, ostensibly, but there's a hint of groan to it as well, as Jon's fingers work into the muscle of his back. He has a fairly nice back — when he needs to relieve work stress Elias either swims or uses the gym machines, so he's fit for his age. It's tense, though, even after all the relaxation in the hot tub earlier. 

"I wouldn't mind," he admits: he wouldn't offer to answer questions if he wasn't willing to, well, answer them. "What I am concerned about is how much knowledge you've already synthesized today." Peter had given a statement, and regardless of what they called it, so had Elias, and then there had been plenty of back and forth about all sorts of topics with both of them. Jon's still relatively new to the job, and Elias worries his eyes can be too big for his stomach, as it were.

 

Jon makes a face, one Elias sadly cannot see from this angle. "Lord, I'm still getting used to that being a concern," he admits, pressing his fingers and dragging them down. "... I suppose it should wait, otherwise I'll likely have to put off doing statements a little more relevant to surviving this damnable nonsense going on."

He sounds somewhat put out though, like it was an imposition to him that he couldn't satisfy his very intense curiosity on the subject because of self preservation. Such a bother, keeping yourself alive and not monster food. At least he had enjoying Elias' back and the fine warmth of him under his fingers. "I'd offer you questions but I have the distinct feeling you already know what matters- god, you're tense for someone who had the adventure we did this afternoon. He really did get to you."

 

Elias makes a wordless grumbling noise into his pillow. "He's insufferable," he seethes calmly— though some of the anger is immediately eased with the press of Jon's hand, and he gasps, sighs softly, eyes closing. He's quiet a moment after that, focus on the old hurt Jon's working on.

"I do have questions," he admits eventually. "But they're intimate. I do already know what you've already put in statements, of course, and what I've researched or just, picked up keeping an eye on you— ngh." A soft grunt and he has to take a moment to resist just becoming liquid. "That's — you're good at that."

 

"Thank Georgie, it's her doing," Jon answers, working on another knot of muscles with singular focus. "She asked for one while we were together, and I was so exceptionally bad at it she wouldn't let me live it down. I made a point of learning how to give a proper massage just to quiet her."

He's rather glad for it now, because the process of helping Elias relax is certainly an appealing one. When Elias grunts he can't help a smile, leaning down to kiss a stray freckle on Elias' shoulder. "Go ahead, ask what you'd like. I'll be bothering you with the same soon enough, fair's fair as they say."

 

"More of that," Elias says, and he doesn't mean the massage. He lacks Jon's rapacious curiosity — it's the Archivist's job to demand knowledge, Elias just observes things as they are, makes predictions and judgement calls. But it isn't Beholding's influence at all that wants to hear more little stories like that one. 

And similarly there's no compulsion when he demands, spoilt, "Tell me about your past relationships. I shared mine, after all." _His_ showed up at his door. "Who have you fallen in love with? What was your first time like?" Like he said, intimate.

 

Jon breaths out in amusement at the demands. "Do I sound like that? No wonder I get so many looks," he mumbles, though on Elias it's rather charming. Probably because he can't force the answers, and he doesn't typically badger people for information. 

He considers a moment, rubbing circles into Elias' shoulders with his thumbs as he does. "My first relationship of any real sort was in University, my first year. There was a boy who I shared several classes with, one who made the effort to speak with me and start something of a friendly banter. I had decided to at least try to have more of a social life than I did in Bournemouth so I reciprocated.

"We started studying together, and one of those sessions he made a pass. I was... curious, so we ended up with rather less studying and more necking like teenagers," he explains dryly, shaking his head. "That was my first kiss, and several weeks later would be my first time. It was fine, I suppose. Rather rushed, and I was never particularly good at communicating wants in such a setting."

 

"Ah, Oxford romance," Elias says, only slightly mocking. Still, he appreciates the story, likes the way it slots another piece into the Jonathan Sims puzzle.

Also, he absolutely meant to continue pestering Jon about his relationships, but... "Speaking of communicating what you want," he says instead, and then: "Actually. Let me turn over." 

He's just going to squirm around beneath Jon, who can sit in his lap for now instead. Elias needs to be able to look him in the eye for this. He flings an arm over his head, looking a lot better already even though he's interrupted the massage. The other hand rubs Jon's knee. "I think I've proven quite effective at gauging what you want. But if you really are going to let me watch you with somebody else, I need us to have a way to signal that we want to stop."

 

Jon rolls his eyes, considers pinching him vindictively for that comment but refrains. Truly a saint.

He lifts himself somewhat so Elias can turn, settling back down with a curious look as to where this was going before- "Ah, yes, that's... certainly something that would need to be settled," he admits, tracing idly down Elias' stomach as he considers. "I'm not exactly- this isn't an area I have a lot of experience in, surprising as that may be," he says dryly. "What would you suggest? Typically safewords are used in situations like this, aren't they?"

 

Elias raises an eyebrow. "Even knowing that term is more than I expected of you," he admits. "But yes. A safeword, or a gesture that serves as a safeword — the latter for certain if we're involving Peter, in case he gags you."

 

"I'm not _naive_ for god's sake," Jon huffs, the same level of indignation as 'I know what a meme is.' The mention of gags makes him flush, as if his body was rebelling against that claim just to annoy him. "True... Fine, all right, then something distinct and difficult to miss."

He considers a moment, drumming his fingers against Elias' chest. "I suppose the ASL for no would be appropriate," he says, lifting his hand to show as much. "Subtle enough, as long as you can see my hands at all times."

 

Elias is brightly pleased by this claimed lack of naïveté, as much as he is the blush, reaching up to trace one wing of Jon's cheekbones as if he could feel the heat splashing them pink.

"That will do nicely," he says, brushes his thumb across Jon's mouth like a kiss. "And I promise, between us, wait and stop will always be effective."

 

"I know, I wouldn't agree to something like this otherwise," Jon says plainly, a touch of fondness there that was starting to feel all too familiar. He reaches to grasp Elias' wrist, moving it to press a kiss to his palm before letting go again. 

"The same goes for you here, you realize. If you want us to stop then I hope you'll say so, whether it be between us or with this business with Peter Lukas."

 

"Of course," replies Elias promptly, and then grips Jon's bicep and does a crunch to sit upright, long enough to demand a real kiss, slow and sweet. But then he flops back again, a little smug-looking, cat-eyed.

"It doesn't have to be Lukas," he says, hand sliding down the length of Jonathan's arm to take his hand. "If he makes you too uncomfortable. I'm sure I'd have no shortage of volunteers willing to fuck you."

 

Jon looks vaguely amused as he pulls up from the kiss, returning to tracing Elias' chest in precise strokes. "Somehow I doubt that," he answers dryly before shaking his head. "I wouldn't say he makes me wildly uncomfortable so much as I find what he's done distasteful." The _to you_ is left unsaid.

"I admit, I'm curious to see why he's even offering. Is it just to get at you? Is it simply for pleasure? What does a man- or monster, I suppose- obsessed with isolation get out of something like sex? A shame compelling at random is so frowned upon in general."

 

"Don't underestimate your own appeal," says Elias: he means both when it comes to _doubting that_ and with regards to Peter's motivations. And he's not biased at all, obviously.

Still. "I think in this case you'd be well within your rights to use a little compulsion," Elias says; he's much less concerned about offending or upsetting Peter than the rest of his family.

 

"You're biased," Jon immediately retorts, obviously, rolling his eyes with amusement still tugging at his lips. "You're singularly peculiar, remember?"

And he does look somewhat tempted to forego pleasantry and compel the shit out of the Lukas idiot. "Well, he didn't react violently to it, that's true. Then again, neither did Michael Crew until he lost patience. I'd rather not get sent into some empty world for pressing the wrong button."

 

"I could bring you back," Elias assures him. And unlike Jonah Magnus all those years ago, that he wouldn't sit on the sidelines for. "If he doesn't want to risk his secrets to my Archivist," he adds, toning down the intensity to smile a little again, some shared amusement passing between them, "He can leave."

 

Jon exhales, amusement laced with a shiver. "That would be the ideal outcome," he admits, and isn't sure how he feels about what he says next. "I suppose you risk secrets when you approach people marked by the Beholding. Rather strange to be the one risky to approach in any form."

Of course he wasn't the one actually feared in any way, and rather hoped it stayed that way. As nice as the safety that would afford he didn't have any interest in being the kind of monster that had a body count. 

(He was still working out how he felt that Elias was exactly that kind of monster, contrary to quite human moments he shared with Jon like secrets.)

"Regardless of all that, I... if you want an answer to whether I'm willing to try this with Peter then yes, I am." He's able to at least say that with some degree of certainty now, as foolish as it was.

 

Elias nods, and he can't deny that he's pleased. That Jon is willing, and that it's Peter. He hates how much he likes that it will be Peter. "I won't let anything happen to you," he promises. Then gives a dirty smirk. "Well. Nothing you won't enjoy, anyway." Ties and blindfolds had been mentioned, after all.

 

Jon rolls his eyes, pressing his palms flat against Elias' chest. "You continue to be shameless," he says as if he wasn't the one who wholeheartedly participated in hot tub shenanigans and agreed to letting his fake-turned-real fiance's ex fuck him while said fakereal fiance watched. "It's not as attractive as you think." It is, and he's a terrible liar.

"Now, do you want to continue this back rub or do you have more to plan before this Peter business?" It's somewhat dry but sincere as well. Elias was the man with the plan, after all.

 

Elias laughs, delighted by Jon's everything, and this time tugs him down by the collar to be kissed.

"Backrub," he agrees once he's decided to let go. Turns over again to let Jon continue his very talented ministrations, and this time he isn't so pushy about the questions, content to just vocalize soft noises as Jon works him into a mess.

 

There was something relaxing about the process, the repetitive motions of his hands and the consequent sounds Elias would make in return. He spends time simply cataloguing them in his own head, safely locked away in his memory- which places Elias seems to carry tension in, the amount of force he preferred, the differences in reaction and consistency. He wonders with some amusement how Georgie would feel to know the skill she unintentionally forced on him was being used on the 'cult leader' she was so uncertain of.

She'd probably call him a mess and he isn't sure he'd blame her.

After enough time, when Elias is relaxed to Jon's satisfaction, he leans down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades and carefully pulls himself off of his perch at Elias' hips. "How's that headache?" he asks, cheekily but in a soft tone, like he was being careful to keep his volume down and not agitate whatever stress might remain. "You should sleep, lord knows the days ahead won't be any easier."

 

"Mm," is Elias' coherent response. He's a puddle, honestly, though he manages to form limbs long enough to roll over and shuck his trousers, then climb beneath the covers. "I'm not much of a sleeper," he admits, but he is definitely going to doze, just wallowing in this feeling. (Cared for, that's what it is. How unusual.)

 

"Remind me to explain to you most need sleep. I'm fairly certain you're still human enough to count for that," Jon answers in a murmur that rather ruins the delivery being anything but fond. He gets up to get changed properly for bed, feeling hopelessly content in a way he struggled for a moment to understand. Companionship, the easy give and take of a relationship- all those little things that came with having someone to come home to.

He shakes his head at his own thoughts. Trite, indeed.

When he returns he climbs into bed as well, still novel enough for the briefest pause before he settles carefully into Elias' side. He falls asleep rather quickly, no dozing like Mr. I'm-not-much-of-a-sleeper, likely his body glad to use this break in fear and paranoia to actually rest regularly after quite the long time without it.

 

Also his days are filled with sex and statements, both of which are exhausting. It's no surprise that he sleeps. Elias curls around him protectively, and eventually does the same. 

 

viii. we've decided to take you up on your offer. 

Elias wakes first as well, because of course. Rouses Jon with a mouth around his cock, a slow and luxurious blowjob, patterning fresh bite marks across his thighs — and then leaves him in bed to recover while he goes to dress and start the day, looking smug as hell as he makes their morning coffees.

 

Needless to say that was quite the way to start his day, full of half hearted curses at Elias and cries he tried to muffle but eventually gave in to. He might have tried harder if he was awake and then coherent enough to remember they weren't alone, something he doesn't remember until Elias was long gone out of the room.

He throws a pillow in the direction of the door in retaliation, because he's nothing if not an expert at useless petulance.

Meanwhile, in the land of the less ridiculous but only slightly, Peter's up and flipping through the paper in his own sleepwear- pajama pants and not much else, which one would think was him being a cheeky shit and was more an early morning laziness. Let a man (monster) enjoy lazy mornings when he could, they weren't something a ship allowed the luxury of.

He gives Elias a quirked brow as he smugly goes about his routine. "Loud one, isn't he?"

 

"Quite," agrees Elias, still very pleased with himself. He's still a little flushed himself, and he hasn't bothered to hide the way his eyes roam Peter's skin.

But he makes Peter a coffee like a truce and when he brings it over he sits opposite, legs curling up beneath him, and watches Peter's face unblinkingly. There's a dash of whiskey in it, as there is his own, Irish style. Probably he shouldn't drink quite so constantly but he feels like he may need it.

"So," he says, "We've decided to take you up on your offer."

 

Peter tosses the paper aside when Elias approaches, taking his coffee with an amusement that clearly encompassed more than just certain morning activities. When he takes a swig he makes a sound of appreciation, lounging back and relishing in the hollow sting Elias and the smell of coffee stirred in him. Like old times, as it were.

"Is that so? I wasn't sure your Archivist would have the stomach for it," he smiles, easy and slow. "I'm glad he does. More fun this way, yeah?"

 

"Hm," said Elias, neither agreement or disagreement. For a man currently wearing a silk robe that shows off a lot of leg when they're drawn up girlishly like they are, he looks commandingly business-like. "I have some stipulations, of course." Terms and conditions apply. "Firstly, the obvious one: if you hurt him in any way that he doesn't like to be hurt, I'll kill you." Peter can decide whether or not that's an empty threat. Certainly it doesn't sound like one, despite how mild it is.

"Secondly. Once we're done, you're going to leave us in peace." He's not certain if Peter wants this enough, or finds it advantageous enough, to prioritise it over his purpose in lingering here, but Elias is hoping he does. If they're going to do this, then he may as well press it as a bargaining chip. "I'm happy to entertain a succession of relatives should your family keep sending them, and you're always welcome to return, but this visit, at least, will be concluded." He waits to hear agreement — or negotiation.

 

"Of course," Peter answers, tracing the rim of his coffee cup in an idle way and making no secret of enjoying the view Elias presents. The first term has him waving a hand as if urging Elias to go on, nodding with the air of a man who expected as much and wanted to get past the formality of it.

The second term is the one that piques his interest, enough he leans to put his mug aside before turning his attention to Elias. "Now that's the Elias I know. I could make a quip of whoring out your fiance but really, this is rather genius. We all get something we want and you most of all.

"Tell me, before we get any further into negotiation, if you didn't care for him would you have considered our offer?" He sounds genuinely curious. "My family has the arrogance of old money and fanaticism, something I'm sure you're familiar with and used to your advantage more than once. They only see it in terms of themselves, not how it could empower the Beholding. And it would, Elias, if wielded correctly."

 

"If I thought that was true," Elias says, "Or, to be more accurate, if I thought that was worth it, I'd break it off with Jon and go through with it myself." Though something about his tone makes it clear that there was never any point, never any version of Elias, who would have turned his Archivist unwillingly over.

So he shakes his head. "I'm afraid binding Jon to me is more valuable than any power Isolation could offer." He's come out of this with an unruly new Archivist wrangled into a leash and willing to do his job. The fact that he's fallen in love is immaterial next to that particular triumph.

 

"I figured as much," Peter shakes his head, not sounding disappointed despite the context, simply accepting. He leans back, closing his eyes as he considers for a few moments. "The truth of the matter is what comes from this little stand still isn't good for anyone, is it? I'd try and break your Archivist down, you'd try and do the same to me, etc etc. I could try and test how much you're willing to strain an alliance your lot needs, given the attacks on your Archives. Losing an Archivist and gaining a new one is quite the vulnerable position, eh?

"But you've already planned for that, I'm sure. It'd be a long and drawn out poker game against a cheater- not offense. So!" He turns his head, brow quirked and still pleasant despite the subject matter. Maybe because of it. "I'll give you this, Elias. I'll agree to leave, you can have your time to regroup and plot as you do. I want something a little more though, for playing nice. I want to take him for a tour."

Of what was pretty obvious, given Elias spent quite a long time 'touring' the endless emptiness that made up the private world of the Lukas family. There's a warm amusement in Peter's expression as he watches Elias, not so much a test as poking at old wounds and watching for winces, or redrawing lines in the sand merely to see how far they'd stretch.

 

A cheater. Well, he's not wrong; Elias has been in contact with the other Lukases since Peter arrived, determined to have a way to negotiate around him if he proved too difficult to negotiate with. Peter's black sheep status within his own family is about the best leverage he's got — well, that and the fact that he's not indifferent to Elias on a personal level. Elias no longer mistakes delight in his pain and potential misery for anything except what it is, but that's still more to work with than indifference.

So, when he grimaces, just slightly, who's to say if it's genuine? "Please understand," he says politely, "That I don't trust you — you personally, Peter — enough to leave you alone with him." Or is that slight emphasis a capitalization: Alone. He knows what Peter is requesting very intimately indeed. 

"You can have whatever he'll agree to from him. Jon might have his own terms, you know, he's very curious about you and yours. But my own permissiveness only extends to what's within my sight." Which doesn't require his physical presence, obviously, but given Peter's tricks, does require their cooperation. "Both of us or neither, I'm afraid."

 

"He won't be difficult to get on board, he's too curious for his own good. Something of a strength and fault for your people, I've found." To be fair he couldn't imagine enticing Gertrude the same way, but Gertrude was hardened and Jon was new, soft. Much easier to work with.

"You wound me, Elias. You should know if I wanted him lost you'd either still be searching for him or cleaning my blood off your suit," Peter says with fondness. "I'll keep it to as short a time as you'd prefer but I want it alone, Elias. Rather beside the point otherwise, wouldn't you say?"

 

Elias is silent for a long moment, considering. He closes his eyes, holds up a hand so as not to be interrupted, conferring with something — with the sum total of Beheld knowledge in his brain, the Eye seeing down the most probable pathways, playing out a dozen dozen games of chess to see how they end.

He's ridden the Tundra and seen Peter make sacrifices. He knows the Lukases want Jon, and who's to say they can't make do even if he's unwilling and already bound? Peter has made it very clear that he thinks Elias losing Jon would be marvellous fun, would perhaps even be doing him a favour.

The corridors of the Lukas family do not concern him. Jon can survive them, if he has to; Elias can get him back, if he has to. He could sink the Tundra, he could very easily kill Peter Lukas, and while the Institute would be in uncertain waters without the Lukases, the possibility is good that all of this could unroll poorly with Peter and he would still be able to keep the others on board. If they did get their hands on Jon, he has things, and people, he could trade. Jon wouldn't likely forgive him, but he could bear that too.

This could still end badly. But he thinks there is not a very high likelihood it would end badly for the Institute, and that is, after all, Elias' first priority.

"I want collateral," he says finally, opening his eyes. "If you took him, I would eventually get him back, and you would eventually pay the price, but it would all be a convoluted waste of time, and given the Stranger's movements I'm running short on that at the moment. So you'll give me something of personal necessity, and you'll get it back when Jon is returned to me safe and sound."

 

Apparently Peter's pleased to hear the stipulation, nodding in agreement. "Perfectly acceptable. How long will you give me?" He's mild about it, because Elias should know well enough time was strange in that place and would stretch as it needed. Maybe not long enough to leave the sort of marks it did on Elias, marks he's quite fond of, but certainly long enough to make any attempt at cutting it too short a pointless one.

 

"Deeds to The Tundra, then," Elias says pleasantly. "Crew and call included." He could do as much with those as Isolation could with an Archivist. "In exchange for... hm. How long do you need?" 

And yes, he will haggle like a fishwife if Peter demands something absurd, but he's also aware that the time is somewhat immaterial. Besides, he wants to gauge whether or not Peter intends to try and screw him somehow.

 

Peter chuckles at that, letting his head flop back. "Ah, there it is. Well, I agreed, didn't I? You'll get them then. I do wonder what you'd do with them if I broke our little arrangement."

Not enough to actually break it, but still, the thought is something. "Six hours. Deal?"

 

"Three without supervision," Elias says, holding out his hand to be shook. "I know you can make it seem like six."

 

"Deal," Peter agrees easily enough, likely proving how pointless negotiating about time as. He takes Elias' hand, shaking and again lingering with a smile because might as well flirt over something as strange as this.

Meanwhile out comes Jon finally, the only one wearing day clothes and not lounging about making overly complicated deals. He glances over at the strange sight, brow raising. "What on earth are you two doing?" he asks, any fluster at the situation Elias landing him in this morning forgotten under curiosity.

 

Well. He'd better enjoy it, because it may be the only time Elias lets Peter touch him. He goosebumps despite himself, and he's almost surprised to see Jon appear, too used to — well. interruptions are rare with a Lukas, that's all. He drops his hand.

"I made you a coffee," he says, standing (there isn't alcohol in Jon's.) Crosses, catches Jon's shoulder and kisses him — open-mouthed, letting Jon taste the lingering bleachy-saltiness beneath the bitter coffee. It's a possessive, petulant little display, much like the noisy blowjob itself, but he doesn't care. 

"I'd better shower," he tells Jon after, fixing his collar where his hand had fisted and rumpled it. Gives him a sort of _I'll tell you later_ look, though it's debatable whether he will.

 

It's pretty damn clear he enjoys it, though he at least has the 'good grace' not to do more than let it linger as much as Elias allows. Peter sits back, draping a hand over the back of the couch as he watches Elias kiss a clearly surprised Jon, and seems content enough with how things turned out. 

"Ah," Jon answers, licking his lips and forgetting to be even vaguely irritated at the whole Noisy Blowjob Incident. He reaches as if to pull Elias back or something like it, eyes flicking to Peter and back. He lets his hand drop. "Very well. I really should get some work done today, given our... distraction."

He gives Peter a Look for that, one that has Peter smiling warmly back at like it was a fond nickname.

 

"All right," says Elias fondly, brushing fingers across the back of Jon's knuckles. "Do take some time to set some limits with Peter for — tonight, I think, if that works well for everybody." He's going to let Jon stutter his way through those negotiations on his own, it seems; he's a big boy. Though he'll step in if Peter gets too pushy.

 

"That ah... yes, tonight is fine," Jon answers, defensive stuffiness making it sound like a business meeting rather than a threesome. He glances to Peter, picking up his coffee and making it over to the couch to do just that. Incase anyone was curious it goes about as well as to be expected.

("No use of your... more singular gifts during this. It rather defeats the purpose of Elias watching, I imagine," Jon tells him at one point firmly, frowning when Peter laughs.

"Elias has never needed to be present to _see_ , Jon."

"My stipulation stands," he insists, and Peter makes a show of sighing.

"You're no fun. Well, there will be plenty of time to ah... _show off_ 'singular gifts' later, I suppose."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that.")

Jon gets down his most basic rules at least, largely consisting of 'no Isolation funny business' and 'listen to Elias.' It's a rather lot of trust to put into Elias, he realizes, one he's probably alarmingly willing to offer when he's so out of his depth he isn't even entirely sure where his lines in the sand _are_. New territory, he thinks, an all that. He wasn't exactly the type of person to regularly fall into anyone's bed, let alone the convoluted situation that presented itself.

He retreats after that, leaving to 'get some work done away from all this nonsense, thank you very much.' Peter simply waves him off, doesn't even poke more at the idea of 'tours,' content to save that for later. Had to get the deed and such in Elias' hands first, as amusing as it would be to watch Jon's indignant reaction to essentially being bartered over like livestock at a bazaar.

 

Jon goes to work; Elias catches him in the bedroom while he's still only half dressed, gives him a tape and a kiss, a weird intersection of what they are to each other. For his part, he has some arrangements to make in the morning, not the least of which involve ensuring his collateral, but then he invites Peter out.

"Come on, you're barely in London these days. We'll get some food and go do something interesting." The Maritime museum, perhaps. Anyway, Elias is willing to show him a good time, is the point, if he can curb his desire to constantly bring up every terrible topic.

It's odd, to be apart from Jon when they've spent the past few days so close, so Elias keeps an eye on him, makes sure he isn't wearing himself out gallivanting off into something dangerous. Texts him a couple of times, idle observations and a healthy side of bitching about Peter.

 

Peter's an easygoing guest, something that isn't unusual for him when he doesn't have something of an agenda and comes to visit for more typical business. Of course that doesn't stop him from stealing someone standing next to them at said museum, a melancholy young man regarding a painting of the endless, dark sea and sky with a wistful look.

("Gotta keep up the quota, yeah?" he says to Elias with a smile. He always did enjoy snatching someone up from under Simon Fairchild's nose.)

Jon, on the other hand, does get into trouble, but we'll get to that. Before that he spends some time being stricken with how different his investigations felt. Before there was a sense of - ha - isolation, the sinking feeling it was entirely possible his next moments would be dying alone.

(' _That moment will be exactly the same as this one now_ , Masato Murray had said it, Georgie now too. He thinks about that, perhaps more than he should.

He takes comfort in not understanding like they do.)

Now he has Elias, even if he _had_ Elias before it was a very different alliance, and a different feeling. He decides to look more into the flyer Daisy gave him, ends up taking a statement of a deathly pale young woman who starts her story with ' _Did you ever think about running away to the circus? I know, it's ridiculous, the stuff of cartoons. I did though. I dreamt about, thought it would be... be an experience. Something whimsical, something to take me far away. I didn't want this, I swear. I didn't_.'

That statement led to a warehouse, and the perimeter of the warehouse led to barely escaping something he never actually saw but scraped against the concrete and asphalt like nails and flesh.

Of course that doesn't stop him from the occasional text before and after that very minor fiasco, the later texts along the lines of his incredibly low regard of circuses these days.

When he returns home ( _home_ , ha, wasn't that something) he's tired but not in particularly low spirits. He got some useful information, more than he could say for several excursions before, and didn't get beat up for once. Everything's coming up Jonathan Sims.

 

Without Jon there to be disapproving, Elias doesn't bother with more than an eye roll that is more fond than it should be when Peter just casually steals a stranger. Makes a mental note to find out more about him — it's not relevant enough now, Jon already inundated with important statements, but perhaps in future. Perhaps if Peter one day lets that young man go.

Speaking of: he knows when Jon makes the statement. Is pleased about it because he can't help but be, because Beholding is pleased about it, even if some small part of Elias that is not Elias is a little concerned that his Archivist is pushing himself too hard. 

He brings home food for them all, dumplings shaped like little flowers with black vinegar, artisanal prawn toast. Fancy dim sum. "Good day?" he asks Jon ask he plates it, looking up from the food to give him a warm smile despite the lingering tension of a day spent with Peter.

 

"Yes, despite attempts at the contrary," Jon answers, adrenaline of the afternoon sluggish but still faintly present. Peter wasn't in sight, in his room Jon assumes, and it's rather easy to lean in for a kiss, fueled by the satisfaction of information obtained and momentary privacy. "Got a statement from someone who managed to escape 'part time work' with Orsinov's lot. A miracle, really, and I hope she takes my advice and gets out of here, as far as she can.

"Regardless, I have a loose idea now of some of their areas of operation." Peter wasn't in sight, in his room Jon assumes, and it's rather easy to lean in for a kiss, fueled by the satisfaction of information obtained and momentary privacy. 

When he pulls back to regard the plates he shakes his head. "Amazing the change when you're impressing the guests. This all looks ridiculously expensive," he comments, turning to pull off his coat and bag. Put the tape somewhere safer by instinct.

 

"You can't possibly be surprised," Elias says dryly. He knows Jon would probably prefer sandwiches or an omelet — or stew. Simple food. This is anything but. Elias picks up some small morsel with his fingers, and when Jon turns with a tape in his hand, catches at his waist, offers it up to his mouth. 

"We can postpone tonight," he says seriously. "If you've managed to exhaust yourself." It's right on the verge of being a reprimand, but not quite.

 

"Not even remotely, I'm shocked he's been here this long without some overly lavish display like this," Jon answers dryly, letting out a surprised noise at being caught before relaxing into it. He blinks a moment before exhaling, amused and - shocking - slightly embarrassed. Not that he pulls away, even if he rolls his eyes before accepting the morsel. Maybe even catches Elias' fingers with his lips as he does. 

"... not bad," he admits, aka it's delicious and he's pretty impressed. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again. "I'll be fine, though I very much plan on sleeping in tomorrow. Try to keep that in mind," dry dry dry.

 

Elias' hand slides further around his waist, voice low as they lean into each other. "What, you didn't enjoy your wake up call this morning? It certainly sounded like you did." Just being an asshole, flirting because he— missed Jon a little, stupidly. And he's going to have to keep his hands to himself later, so he's maximizing his time right now. "I know I definitely did," he adds, sly.

 

"I- yes, fine, but you could have warned me about... volume," Jon can't help but admit. It wasn't as though the sounds he made alone didn't answer Elias' question for him. "Though I assume that may have been the point." Give him a medal, he's figured it out.

Still, he leans, hand pressed against Elias' chest and soaking up the contact with an air of contentment. He tries not to feel like they're living on borrowed time, or that feeling as calm and happy as he does now will be paid back in full in the future. It's not an easy task.

Especially when Peter comes over, good natured as always. "Oh, don't mind me, I wouldn't want to interrupt," he interrupts with a smile, reaching over to snatch one of the dumplings like some sort of barbarian instead of a man from a very rich family.

 

"Astute," Elias murmurs with a chuckle, all but confirming that yes, he'd targeted Jon while he was rousing in to wakefulness specifically so he wouldn't think to stifle himself any. For much the same reason that when Peter approached his arm tightens minutely around Jon's waist.

Though of course, possessiveness isn't going to do him any good tonight. He knows that.

"Are you just going to stand there," he asks waspishly, and when it becomes apparent that yes, that's exactly what Peter is going to do, Elias rolls his eyes and ignores the urge to kiss Jon again, decouples. Their soft moments aren't for watching eyes. Not now that they're real.

Elias takes up a plate instead, carries it to the dining table, and they eat their glorified take-out. It's fortunate that there's more quality than quantity; he's only nibbling, really, too anticipatory to eat. Despite how much Peter's eyes on Jon still sort of makes him want to bare his teeth, the two of them interacting is fascinating.

 

Peter lets his actions speak for him, because yes, he does just stand there and chew on his dumpling. Then another. By the time Elias heads to the dining table he's smiling, something slightly sharper than before. At least Jon thinks it is, thinks this must be anticipation on a man like Peter Lukas. Thinks he still can't quite understand what it was he was truly anticipating.

Jon follows, sticks by Elias pointedly. There wasn't much reason to pretend he wasn't nervous, and even less reason to pretend he hasn't been relying on Elias to keep Peter in line since the beginning. It's... troubling, makes him feel less somehow but better all the same, to have something solid to rely on. Something he certainly shouldn't rely on and did very deeply.

Peter makes small talk, clearly enjoying himself despite Jon's tight lipped nerves keeping him mostly quiet. When they're done eating he leans back, smiling and, Jon suspects, waiting. 

Jon clears his throat as he stands. "I'm going to go take a shower," he declares, and heads off to do so. Peter watches him go, still regarding where his form retreated when he speaks.

"This is your last chance to join us," he informs Elias, and it's very unclear if he means to tempt Elias or simply decided to say so as a fact.

 

Elias watches Jon go. By counterpoint, his own anticipation is a whetstone, but he isn't nervous. He's lined up all the dominoes, and there's nothing to do but to watch them fall. But despite settling into his own certainty, he still looks a touch surprised by Peter's offer.

"Oh, I'll be with you every step of the way," he promises, but it's not an acceptance. He still doesn't want to touch Peter any more than he has to, doesn't want to acknowledge how much of his hunger is to see him stripped down and sexual for the first time in so, so long. That old flame should have been stamped out fairly effectively, but he still remembers what it was like to be taken ruinously apart by Peter Lukas.

Peter probably knows anyway. That's also part of the appeal.

Elias gathers up their finished plates and takes them to the sink. Fixes himself a drink. There's a charged atmosphere in his living room, now, that impossible tension in the air that signals a storm. "Where do you want me," he asks Peter, coming back with his glass to lean a hip against the table, close enough to touch. Very deliberately adjusts himself to ease his growing erection. "Close by, I should hope. I'm not going to observe silently."

 

Peter finally glances over, smile easy, no surprise or disappointment. He doesn't touch, though it most certainly isn't out of respect for boundaries. "I'd expect nothing less," he answers then stands, rolling his shoulders as he does so. "Mm, where do I want you? The bedroom should be a good start. As much as debauching your living room holds it's appeal, I think that will work just a little better.

"And stay within my sight, yeah?" he pauses in the hall, turning to Elias as he does. "I'd hate to miss anything."

 

"I think, if you're paying attention to me at any point, you need to reexamine your priorities," Elias says dryly, following Peter into his own bedroom. The room has very little furniture that isn't the bed, but there's an armchair by the window: Elias moves it so that he can see the bed both from the chair, and in the full-length mirror on the door to his closet.

"Stay," he says to Peter, leaves him to make whatever preparations he so desires, and slips into the en suite bathroom. Jon's still in the shower. Elias doesn't bother undressing, just joins him in in his shirt and trousers, takes Jon's face in his hands, kissing him before he can say anything about wet clothes or personal privacy.

 

"Don't worry Elias, I would never leave your Archivist wanting," Peter laughs as Elias does what he needs.

Jon starts at being joined, clearly lost in his own thoughts enough not to notice the door to the bathroom opening. He melts into the kiss, losing some of the tension of his nerves as he does. When he pulls back he says nothing about Elias' wet clothes or the intrusion, which is likely telling. "I never thought I'd do something like this."

 

"I know," Elias says, soft under the sound of the water, thumbing over one cheekbone. "But you've weathered a lot of new experiences for me lately. This one you get to enjoy." Probably rare that a close encounter with the avatar of a power _is_ so enjoyable, really. "And if you're not enjoying yourself, it stops. I'll be right there to make sure of that."

It's all reassurance, Elias scanning Jon's gaze, and he really can't read minds but he looks like he's trying to. Whatever he sees is enough to make him kiss Jon again, and then he steps back, seeming to belatedly realize he's soaked, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

 

"You're..." Jon struggles a moment with the word he wants, chewing at his bottom lip a moment before he offers, "sweet." Not exactly something he imagines Elias is called often but it's the right word, and he kisses back before exiting the shower as well.

He takes a towel, drying his hair as best he could as the smaller, shower related situation finally makes his lips quirk. "Making a habit of soaking your clothes," he points out, then struggles a moment with the fact putting his clothes on again was rather pointless. He settles for a towel around the waist, feeling somewhat ridiculous for being embarrassed by it, given what they were about to do. Baby steps, he assumes.

He runs a hand over Elias' jaw, watching him thoughtfully a moment, as if he was trying to read something himself before he exhales and heads out. Peter sits on the bed, jarringly out of place despite how casual his posture was. He glances over from observing the surroundings and smiles.

"Nervous?" he asks, and even though it sounds nothing like a challenge Jon can't help but wonder.

"Should I be?" Jon shoots back, a prickly answer that makes Peter chuckle and stand.

"Far be it from me to decide something like that for you. I'd love to hear that answer when we're finished, though."

 

Nobody has ever called him sweet before — well, not since he was a tow-haired child, anyway. Not in the way Jon means it. He's going to be replaying that in his head for a while.

Elias grins at the comment about his clothes, and finishes pointedly stripping out of them; "Kissing you seemed more important than the time they would have taken," he admits cheerfully. There's time now, though; they hit the tile soggily while Jon finishes drying up. Elias pulls on his robe and follows. 

He brushes one last reassuring touch over Jon's bare waist as he passes, and then goes to sprawl indolently in his chair, arms draped over the armrests as he watches the interplay between Jon and Peter with interest. They're both infinitely fascinating men (for certain definitions of men) and he has the brief thought that if the Lukases weren't directly threatening the Instutute with this arranged marriage business, if Peter wasn't always so gleeful about unearthing Elias's sordid past, he might have enjoyed keeping Peter around a while longer just to listen to he and Jon talking some more.

Or to watch them like this: there's no doubt that his gaze is avid.

 

Jon thought it would be a little more difficult to keep from glancing to Elias often, but Peter Lukas is certainly a man difficult not to pay attention to. He's handsome, of course, because it would be easier for Jon if he wasn't quite so striking so there was no way he wouldn't be. His eyes though, there was such a hollowness to them it makes Jon shudder when he focuses in so intently. Not dead, just... empty. Like there was never anything there.

He also assumed it would be difficult for Peter to focus solely on him as well- after all, they were both here because of the man sitting to the side and watching. But Peter's gaze doesn't stray as he steps in front of him, reaching to get a grip on Jon's chin to force their eyes to meet regardless of Jon's kneejerk reaction to look away. Again there are those eyes, and Jon almost wants to accuse him of using his more inhuman abilities because the deeper he stares the more he feels like all that exists is the ground beneath his feet and the emptiness staring back at him.

Peter breaks the feeling with a quirk of the lips. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm ah... I'm not in the habit of selling such things, and certainly not for cheap," he manages, even if he's somewhat preoccupied with the sharp glint of teeth and swell of Peter's bottom lip. Peter's laugh at that doesn't make the distraction any better.

"I'd speak while you have the chance, Jon, because I do plan on taking that little luxury away from you." Peter moves closer now, hand pressing to Jon's waist, teasing the folds of the towel keeping it up. Jon tries not to tense and fails, tries not to shiver and fails more. Peter's hands are a touch colder than Elias', he notes critically. His grip is the kind of firm that flirts knowingly with painful. "Unless you'd rather use you mouth for something other than talking?"

Jon flushes as expected. "Lord, that's a cliche line. Surely you can do better than that."

That makes Peter laugh more sincerely than Jon's heard so far. "All right, I can see why Elias likes you," is all he says before his grip shifts and Jon finds himself being lifted off his feet, letting out a surprised sound as he clutches at Peter's shoulder and back. 

Peter keeps one firm arm around his hips, moving without trouble as he turns and deposits Jon backfirst onto the bed, grinning at the surprised and indignant look he gets. "Are you going to complain? Not all of you is complaining."

Yup, the now very haphazardly tied towel is certainly tented. Jon struggles a moment with answering that, not getting the chance as Peter climbs onto the bed and over him, pressing him down with hands on his shoulders. "Can I mark him?" he asks Elias, very pointedly Elias and not Jon, a fact that makes Jon flush in irritation and something unwise.

 

"It's not as though other domains haven't left their mark," Elias remarks, with a tilt of his lips, because Jon complains about that all the time. "That's a yes," he adds. "Go ahead."

He makes it seem like an easier permission than it is; but in this at least, Elias has already gone before, left the imprint of his teeth in Jon's skin to his satisfaction. Jon's skin is probably a collection of residual marks from the last few days.

In other areas, though... it's funny, that he'd warned Peter he didn't have lord's rights, tongue in cheek, but already he seems to be planning to do things to Jon that Elias yet hasn't — using that pretty mouth, for one. Though the truth is Elias is too enamored of Jon's voice to want to fill his mouth with anything. Even now, the best part of this for him so far is enjoying Jon sniping back, bratty.

Elias hasn't really moved any; he's breathing, and his eyes are fixed on Jon, and that's about it. He's been simmering a low arousal since he sucked Jon off this morning, but he's determined to be restrained.

 

"So I've noticed," Peter says in amusement, thumb circling one of the Prentiss scars. "Hive, Lightless Flame, this-" he presses down, nails blunt against the scar on Jon's side the Elias tended to. He presses until Jon gasps and squirms, Peter's other hand firm on his shoulder to keep him in place. "Hm... People's Church I'd guess? Showy lot, like their sigils. Mine would be more... simple. Isolation's not performative."

"Oh? What... what would yours be, then?" Jon tries for try but it's a bit breathy now, worse when Peter shifts his knee up between Jon's legs, moves his hand down to trail up Jon's hip and drag the towel up with it.

"I wasn't planning on leaving anything permanent but if you ask nicely..." Peter all but winks, grinding his knee up and watching with benevolent amusement as Jon bit his lip to keep from groaning. "I don't usually think gagging would be a shame, but I can see the appeal of letting you scream yourself raw. Ah well. I can always take it out if I change my mind."

"W-wait-" Jon tries, breath stuttering when Peter leans down to nip at his neck. He traces over marks left by Elias, renewing them, making some of his own. It takes a moment for Jon to continue, "I-I have questions."

And Peter laughs into the reddened skin he had been working on at Jon's collar. "You sure know how to pick them, Elias."

 

Jon attempting to, what, negotiate? At this stage in the proceedings? Is charming in its own right, honestly, even to Elias. Especially to Elias. He chuckles, lifting a hand to his mouth — it does a poor job of concealing his smile.

"Careful, Peter," he warns, playful. "You'll answer them if you let him ask." Of course, even if Peter gags him now, he's going to have plenty of uninterrupted exposure to Jon's curiosity later.

 

"Just one," Jon tries, apparently too intent on getting his question in to worry about how he sounded, which was a little too close to whining. "What you're getting out of this- why Isolation would find any appeal to it."

"That's more than one question," Peter points out, pulling back enough to regard Jon for a long, intent moment. It stretches, making Jon squirm nervously, until finally Peter speaks again. "You didn't compel me. Interesting. When you do, do you feel it? The statement, that is. It becomes a part of you and yours."

"... yes, in simplistic terms," Jon answers, and Peter smiles, running a hand over the marks he made, pressing on the tenderest of them to watch Jon gasp.

"The I want you to ask me that again, this time with compulsion. I want you to feel this. But before that-" He glances over to Elias. "Anything I can use as a blindfold? Assuming you don't have one proper," his tone is dripping with amusement.

 

It would be neat if Elias secretly had a Christian Grey style BDSM room, but if he does it is not in this particular flat. He unfolds the origami of his limbs and crosses to his closet. "Really," he murmurs, "I would have hoped you'd have come prepared."

What he brings over are a handful of silk aviator scarves in various patterns; they're folded into neat squares, direct from a drawer. Good for gagging, binding, and at least a semblance of blindfolding. "These should do," he says diffidently. Then he perches on the edge of the bed — just temporarily. He's still not touching, merely providing reassuring presence, though he may take Jon's hand if Peter covers his eyes. It's slightly breaking his own interference rules, yes, but Jon isn't the only one who's nervous.

 

"Why be prepared when I can put you on the spot instead?" Peter asks, taking the scarves, examining them and ultimately nodding in approval before turning back to Jon. Jon glances to Elias, somewhat relieved to have him nearer than before, and when Peter plucks the glasses from his face he blinks at the blurry image of Elias beside him.

Peter hands the glasses off to Elias before picking up one of the scarves, folding it in preparation. "Go on," he encourages Jon, who swallows.

"What do you get out of this? What could Isolation find appealing about something like this?" He can hear something like static, wonders if the others can hear it as he does. The more he pays attention the more he can feel the difference of compulsion- the sound that cracks through the air, the weight on his tongue, the strange pull in his chest as if something was being tugged out of him gently. "Why are you here?"

Peter closes his eyes a moment, tense and still, nothing like the shudder Elias would give. Before Jon can think to say or do anything more Peter places the scarf over his eyes, blotting out his vision. He shifts Jon's head, ties it firmly, and Jon can't whatever expression Peter has but he imagines it isn't a smile. 

It is not. "It wounds me, Archivist, that you seem sure I'm so wholly consumed that I couldn't enjoy this as a human," he says after a beat, staring down intently. His hands shift from the blindfold to cup Jon's face, lower still to press lightly against his neck. Jon gasps at the slightly pressure, a nervous noise, and Peter finally smiles. "You're right, of course, but it still hurts my feelings. I work very hard to be pleasant, you know. I tricked Elias back in the day. I would have tricked you too, I think, if you weren't... educated on the matter."

He lets fingers press into Jon's pulse before pulling his hand down, leaving red lines in the wake of his nails. Not vivid but there still, marking the path. "What do you think you know about Isolation? My... god- that's what you like to call these things? Some do. Gods, masters, etc. I'm sure you know better than to think they're anything like a god, but it's a decent enough placeholder.

"Your god is a constant pulse. Do you imagine the Eye has a will? Do you think it has thoughts, feelings of want or distaste? You see it as something, something that can fill gaps. _My_ god... it was never there. My god is emptiness when there was once something warm. My god isn't dead because to be dead would mean it once had a living essence that was taken. My god is the taking. It's the familiar torn away and leaving echoes. The echoes are mocking, they just remind you of what's better to forget now. That's my god, Archivist."

Jon breathing picks up, the words as physical to him as Peter's hand on his chest, scratching light lines between scars. Staring, he thinks, because he can feel that too, like the echo Peter mentions. Mocking. "How could I enjoy something like this? Sex, the intimate act of it, watching Elias watch you like you're something precious- it should go against everything I am. You're thinking of it too narrowly. All of this is just a mockery, an echo bouncing against the wall in grim memoriam of something no longer there. It's empty, yet you want it. Yet Elias wants it. You should both know better. You both do, but you choose to chase at echoes and that..."

Peter smiles. "The Eye's lot, you're too tempting a bunch. I could hollow you out and you'd ask for more. I did hollow Elias out and here we are. If I could love I really would love you both. You're perfect, really you are-" Jon's shaking, a fine tremble that Peter smiles all the more at, picking up one of his hands and kissing the inside of the wrist. It feels hollow, and yet Jon can't imagine asking him to stop. "Isolation is more gentle than you think, Archivist. But don't worry, I won't be gentle. I don't think you want that."

 

Elias has been fixated on Jon so far, his groans and squirms and the flush of arousal overtaking him — it's exactly as good as he thought it would be, getting to watch that without the distraction of having to cause it. And perhaps, yes, there's something tender in it. _Like he's precious_ , Peter says, and Elias wants briefly to make him leave, because the look he's been giving Jon is for Jon alone, even when he can't see it.

But that's just a fleeting thought. More encompassing is the statement — Elias can feel it as much as Jon does. Maybe not in the same way, Jon experiencing the truth of it while Elias is more aware of the satiation, the fullness of it. But enough. Enough that Peter has his attention now, completely and properly, for the first time since they started this.

It aches, just a little. He knows better than to argue with it, though. Instead he just gives in to the wild flood of attraction he has to Peter in all his nihilistic worship of the empty. "I really have missed you," he murmurs hopelessly, and slips off the bed and back to his chair before he does something stupid.

 

"I know," Peter says, fond and lacking any arrogance the words may imply. They simply were. "And hopefully you always will. That's the point, isn't it?" If he remained a hollow echo in Elias' chest for the rest of the man's life than everything they did was a success. It certainly ached in Peter, and he treasured that.

He glances down at Jon, still breathing heavily- processing, Peter assumes, so his 'god' could be fed- and chuckles, pulling his own shirt off and over his head. "Now, let's give Elias a show, yeah? Typically I'd prefer to cut your hearing off as well, tie you up, let the only thing you can do be feel what I chose to give you in that darkness helplessly. Sadly we don't have the tools for that, so we'll just have to make do."

Peter shifts off Jon, amusement in his tone when he speaks again. "Come on now, on your knees on the floor. You can follow my voice well enough, can't you?"

"I ah..." Jon shifts, sitting up in a slight daze, swallowing when he tries to fix his towel and gets an amused 'leave it' from Peter for doing so. He reaches out, feeling out the edge of the bed, carefully climbing off it and flushing at the no doubt ridiculous sight he must make blindly groping around. When he finds Peter's knee he swallows again and gets to his knees, face burning. "I don't have... a lot of experience with this."

"Oh, I think Elias will enjoy it regardless, right Elias?" Peter replies easily, reaching over to run his thumb over Jon's bottom lip before sitting back and spreading his legs slightly. "Go on," he encourages, and grins at the way Jon seems embarrassed by something as simple as being the one to pull off Peter's belt and clumsily unbutton and unzip him.

Which he does with no help from Peter, and now Peter's only interest in the situation is far more apparent to him. He pulls out Peter's cock hesitantly, trying not to show how out of his depth he felt at something as simple as this. Maybe the blindfold helps in some way, because he's certainly less shy about feeling the shape of it to get an idea.

 

Elias certainly _will_ enjoy it regardless. His fingers dig into the arm of the sofa, and he can't seem to decide whether he wants to watch Jon fumblingly get out Peter's cock or Peter himself, bare-chested and languid. 

Despite himself, despite all these freshly opened wounds, Elias shares a smile that has just a hint of cruelty. "If he makes a mess of it," he informs Peter, "You have my full permission to discipline him."

 

Peter laughs, Jon shivers, the usual. "You best keep that in mind, Archivist, it is most certainly a privilege I will take full advantage of." Peter reaches over, running a thumb over the edge of the blindfold. "Go on, don't make me ask again."

Jon swallows, and he wasn't kidding about it being something he had little experience with. Georgie had enjoyed him going down on her, the only time he really had and, obviously, the equipment was different. He considers Elias that morning, the time before, shudders despite himself at the memory of Elias lips wrapped around him and tries to remember instead the way it was done.

He settles for using his tongue first, tentatively licking a strip up the underside, growing more bold as he made it his goal to explore. Peter makes no sound as he works, all he can feel is Peter's thumbing the greying hair at his temple until his fingers grip in Jon's hair, not painful but pointed. He takes that as a sign to carefully wrap his mouth around Peter's cock, just the head, still tentative and nervous as he does.

Peter's patient, at first at least, letting him test how much he can take, how wide his mouth has to be, how to be careful of his teeth. He learns that when Peter tugs roughly at his hair for the mistake, something that pries a muffled groan out of him and a knowing, amused breath out of Peter. After that Peter begins controlling the pace, slowly but resolutely, until Jon finds it easier to simply try and relax mouth and throat for Peter to work with.

It should be unpleasant, he thinks, the steadily increased pace, the lightly painful grip in his hair, how hard it is to breath and how _messy_ the whole thing is. Elias always seemed so appealing when he did so, still composed, and Jon can already feel saliva threatening to drip down his chin with each thrust as he tries to keep up. He's anything but cool and composed, a fact that annoys him but in a distant, expected way. He can't help the sounds deep in his throat because it is good somehow. The come out muffled and wet, and when he reaches down between his legs Peter tightens his grip and pulls him forward just enough to gag.

"Ah ah, I didn't say you could do that," at least Peter's breathless, Jon takes that small victory as he pulls back to cough and regain his breath, trying wipe at his spit slick lips. Peter stops him though, grabbing his chin and turning it towards Elias. "Hands on your knees, don't move them. And let Elias enjoy the view for a minute." Jon flushes but does as he's told, wishing he could see Elias right now for more than just the comfort of it.

 

It's immediately obvious Jon has never done this before, but that's fine, Elias has never been into being on the receiving end. Or at least, that's what he would have said, before watching Jon slowly acclimate to taking cock. For all Peter seems to be enjoying himself, that's not the appeal at all, no: it's how Jon responds to having his hair pulled and his mouth used, the muffled noises he makes, the way his own dick strains untouched.

Peter shows him, what Jon looks like, messy and red-mouthed, and Elias wants badly to kiss him, to lick the precome and long strings of spit out of his mouth. But he stays where he is. "You do look," he says, letting the heat infuse his tone because he knows Jon can't see him, "Particularly good when you're doing that. Slutty for it," he reflects, and all that earlier sweetness has vanished like smoke. (Or at least, from the detachment of his tone — nobody actually looking at Elias right now could doubt what he feels for Jon.)

 

Jon considers that Elias' tone alone shouldn't be enough to make him ache, let alone the words. Of course if he was counting things he shouldn't be doing this entire situation would be one of them, sucking the cock of a monster while another watched. "Elias," he mutters, voice raw and a little hoarse. He clenches his fists to keep from moving them, and Peter runs a thumb over his lips approvingly.

"I could tell you some stories of Elias on his knees," Peter says, and without the good natured expression to go with it Jon swears he can pick out something sharper in his tone, a hollow ring. It's certainly meant to be teasing. "If we're discussing being slutty for it. Maybe another time though, I think you've had enough stories for today, yeah?"

He turns Jon's head back to face him, regarding him curiously though Jon can't tell and squirms in anticipation and nerves. "Should I keep fucking his mouth or would you prefer I go straight to fucking him? We have all night." Peter asks pleasantly, in the same tone he used mentioning Elias on his knees and several other things. "And you know me, Elias, I aim to please." Yeah, that's questionable.

 

The memory of having Peter's unforgiving attention, and the visible effects of the same on Jon, combine to kick low in Elias' gut. He's grown up a bit since then, come a little more into his own, but he still remembers how good it felt to just let Peter use him.

He shifts slightly, and it's difficult not to just touch himself then, but he refrains. Patient. Waiting. Perhaps not so slutty anymore. 

"I could watch this for a while without any complaints," Elias admits, wetting his lower lip. "But I would rather see you fuck him. There's lubricant in the night stand — and condoms, but I don't expect you to use one. I like the idea of you leaving him a little messy for me." Apparently Jon doesn't get a say in this.

 

"You heard the man," Peter leans in to speak into Jon's ear, making Jon jump at the unexpected proximity and Peter chuckle as he stood. "On the bed."

Jon reaches out to feel his way there and does as he's told, listening to the of cloth rustling and dropping- Peter stripping the rest of his clothes, he assumes. Jon smooths his hand over the bed sheet, anchoring to the feeling of now familiar sheets, and wonders over why the lack of say was so damned appealing instead of an indignity. He struggles with questions ready to spill- what was Elias thinking right now? What did he look like? Was he enjoying this? What had he been like, when he was in this position instead? 

As if sensing it Peter speaks, "Open your mouth." Jon does so, the question of why clear in the furrow of his brow, and hears Peter doing something he can't quite figure out. Fabric- the scarf, he realizes just as the knot of fabric was placed between his lips. Peter ties it tightly, a little too expertly, and Jon can't help but wonder how often he indulges in... whatever this was. 

"Like I mentioned, the sounds are nice but I have ah... let's say something of a predisposition to this," Peter explains cheerfully, testing the gag and smiling when Jon swallows around it. "Nothing quite like being stuck in your own head, is there? And I'm sure given your bond Elias will be able to tell if you're... uncomfortable."

Jon wants to snipe back, breathless and shaky or not, but can't do much more than bite lightly down on the cloth. Peter isn't wrong, the effect of having that old, familiar defense stripped from him is... a lot. He imagines a blind and mute Archivist is about as much of a sitting duck as one could be- nothing to see, no chance at compulsion. He tries not to consider that he thought of himself as an Archivist before a damn human being, reaches out for some small contact or way of connecting with the situation again.

And Peter grabs his wrists before he does, tone just as amused and deceptively soft. "Can't trust these either, so hold them there." Jon does so, unable to do much more than exhale sharply when Peter goes about tying his wrists together. The feeling of helplessness intensifies, just on the verge of too much, and though he doesn't make the sign he knows will stop this the tremble of his hands makes Peter pause. 

"Shh, you're doing very well, Archivist," he promises, the tone not unlike calming a skittish animal and more effective than Jon cared to admit. "You should see Elias, he's quite the sight. You're doing so well for him." Jon takes a few deep breaths as Peter runs a thumb over Jon's knuckles, waiting a few moments before he asks, "Better?"

Jon nods, tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders, and Peter hums in approval, reaching for the nightstand and the lubricant in question.

 

Elias is watching Jon's hands carefully for that very sign; he doesn't care how obvious his concern is now, this is the first time anyone has done this to Jon and that it's not Elias himself hushing him through it is killing him.

"I'm right here," he reminds Jon, a little shaky himself. It feels like such a trust exercise, for Jon to simply climb into the lion's maw with the absolute faith that Elias would keep him safe. It twins with an old familiar feeling: of trusting Peter. There is so much he could do right now, and the consequences would be severe, certainly, but they would be after the deed is done. The beauty of giving over to him is and has always been that Elias is never wholly, wholly certain which way that coin will fall. 

That constant threat of danger throws everything into clarity, keeps Elias' attention fixed. There is nothing else in the world to him right now than the two of them on the bed, all his other eyes gone shut.

The urge to join in, to interfere, part jealousy and part urge to soothe and all love, settles as Jon does. Elias realizes he's sat forward and relaxes back again, taking a slow breath. "My Archivist," he murmurs, speaking again even though he knows that will just make the silence worse when he stops. "He's right, you're doing beautifully. Let him take you apart, darling, I'll still be here when he's done."

 

Elias' voice has an immediate effect, tension draining more quickly from his shoulders as Peter rustled through the nightstand. Jon wishes he could speak, wants nothing more than to ask if could touch Elias despite the rules. Part of him is glad he can't, _wants_ to do well in some ridiculous way, wants Elias to say _my Archivist_ again like that. He twists his wrists against the restraints as Peter finds what he's looking for and returns.

"Turn," Peter orders, voice normal again, apparently happy that Jon had calmed down enough or to allow Elias to do the soothing. Jon does as he's told, makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when Peter decides to simply position him as he pleased. He ends up with his forearms and knees against the mattress, back arched slightly as Peter pulled his legs further apart and popped the cap of the lubricant audibly.

"Be good and relax, yeah? Open up for me-" When his fingers are slick enough he prods at Jon, circling a moment before pushing one finger in a touch quickly- pointedly so. Jon tenses immediately, making a low sound in his throat, though Peter stops and waits until Jon forces himself to relax again before continuing. "There you are. You know, maybe when I'm done fucking you Elias will take a turn. He has a lot of self control, hasn't even touched himself yet. You think that's why he wants me to make a mess of you? So you're nice and slick with my come for him?"

Peter just continues that litany as he works, adding another finger then moving in a steady rhythm as Jon shuddered and gasped around the gag. Peter draws it out, an edge of amusement to his soft humming as Jon began to whine, all his typical noises muffled behind the gag but very much there. When he slides his fingers out the whine is sharper, making Peter chuckle. "Soon," he promises, all kindness that rings hollow, running his nails lightly down Jon's back as he slicked himself up.

 

Peter is talking to Jon, and not Elias, but Elias still has to hide a smile behind his hand. "You're not wrong," he admits mildly, unabashed — that's _exactly_ why he wants Jon made a mess of. 

Also what he wanted: to watch Jon just like this, being teased apart just by preparation. Elias stands from his seat and comes around the bed until he's in front of the way Jon is faced, and then he just takes a seat on the floor, folds his arms on the mattress and rests his chin there, watching quietly. The scarves obscure Jon's face a little, but not completely, and Elias drinks in each little expression with interest as he's fucked.

 

Jon flushes, presses his face to bindings on his wrists as if that will help stifle his moan more than the gag. He hears Elias move, tries to imagine it in fog Peter's made of his head. He's closer now, Jon thinks in an abstract way, and despite all Peter's attempts to isolate him in his own body he thinks he can feel Elias' presence in some way. 

Of course Peter distracts him from that by lining up and pressing in, nowhere near as quick as his fingers but with an unrelenting steadiness that has Jon shaking and trying to keep up. Peter takes pity and pauses at some point, giving Jon the chance to groan and shake, hands grasping uselessly at the bedsheets. It's not a mercy extended for long, and the moment Jon begins to feel like he's regained something even remotely resembling composure Peter presses forward again, not stopping until he bottoms out.

Jon bites the scarf hard, whining softly at the feeling of fullness, squirming around Peter until the man huffs a breathless laugh and press Jon's head down with one hand, the other braced on Jon's waist. "Haven't even started yet, Archivist," he chides, low and less mindlessly pleasant than his typical. Something about that, the discovery of something new in Peter, is satisfying, and Jon groans in hopes he would just start _moving_ already.

When Peter does it's with a snapped movement, pace just as unrelenting as before, refusing any sort of reprieve. Jon gasps, tries to swallow around his gag as Peter's movements shake through him, the grip he has on Jon's waist making it difficult to do more than moan and ride out the storm. 

Which he does, clutching at the bedsheets hard enough his fingers hurt, unable to adjust because every time he felt he could Peter picks up the pace, asks more and more of him he has no choice but to give. He's so damn hard it _hurts_ but his hands are literally tied, and even if he tried to sneak them down Peter made it very clear that would not work out well for him. He's tempted to try just to see, just for the briefest relief, but he can barely think let alone shift himself in any meaningful way.

He takes to trying to convey that need with his voice instead, or what sounds he can make- hopeless and needy and deeply embarrassing if he had half the mind to realize so. Peter's grip moves to his hips and is tight enough to bruise, and he slows down only once, breathing through his nose as Jon made helpless noises. "Not... yet," Peter mutters, taking long, deep breaths, voice as controlled as he could manage but his grip telling in how his nails dug into Jon's skin. "You're going to come without anyone touching you, _Jon_ ," he says the name like it's a breathless joke. "Can you do that for me?" he pauses, listens as Jon whines but refuses to move. "Well?"

Jon nods as best he can manage, desperately, groaning when Peter finally starts moving again. It's barely a few moments before the pace is just as punishing as before, rocking him as Peter chuckles quietly. It doesn't take long after that for the tension building low in his gut to go painfully taut, and he comes with a shuddering sob against Elias' expensive bedsheets.

"Good boy," Peter breaths, adjusting his grip to keep Jon, now boneless, upright as he continued. Peter is just as relentless, no mercy for the way Jon trembles and whines, sensitive and spent. By the time Peter's thrusts begin to lose the steady beat of their rhythm Jon's half hard again, each feeling bordering on painful and too much, even though he isn't sure if he'd please for less or more if he had the voice.

When Peter comes it's with a sharp breath and a groan, nearly falling to press down on Jon if he didn't brace himself with one arm. Jon can feel the length of Peter's chest against his back, his breath close to Jon's ear and the pulse of him. Peter stays like that for a long beat, breathing, until he pulls out with a sound that would make Jon blush if he had the capacity to, flopping over onto his back next to Jon with a satisfied noise.

 

Elias just observes as Peter uses Jon's body, overstimulates him — he manages to hold out on touching himself until Jon comes, and even then he doesn't show it off just slips a hand down to gentle himself through the intense wash of arousal. It's hard to say if he's this turned on because he loves seeing Jon like this or because he remembers exactly what this kind of demanding fuck feels like. Either way, he feels cracked wholly through by the time Peter comes, Elias cataloguing his expression with lust-dark eyes, hissing in soft sympathy as he presses the last of it deep.

Spent, Peter rolls away, and Elias climbs up on the bed; he's still wearing his robe but it's undone fallen open. cock full and obvious. But he doesn't take Peter's place behind where Jon is still on all fours. "Jon," he murmurs instead, richly affectionate, "Jonathan." 

Elias undoes the bindings of his hands first, the rescuing hero, freeing him. Then his mouth, because he loves Jon's voice. The third scarf, though, he leaves, fingers dancing lightly over Jon's cheekbones beneath it. He knows that sometimes being released can be as jarring as being bound. "Come up here to me," he murmurs, drawing Jon up and into his arms, just to hold. Kisses his shoulder, his neck, wordless reassurance. Then looks up to consider Peter.

 

Jon exhales hearing Elias, chest still heaving to catch his breath. When his wrists are freed he reaches out instantly, fingers shaking against the robe and familiar warmth of Elias' skin. He touches what he can as if it can replace his sight, hungry for it, unable to stop trembling even as the gag is untied.

"Elias," he gasps, breathless and raw and shaky, emotions rampant and unguarded. He presses into every touch like he's starved for it, soaking in the affection before settling in Elias' hold just to breath.

Peter watches the spectacle, expression good natured as ever, though the activities cracked through the veneer enough to show the hint of a hollow edge. When Elias' attention lands on him he stretches, content and shameless, smiling as he sits up.

"Not bad, Elias, I can see why you keep him around," he says with a soft laugh, rolling his shoulders. "So, you kicking me out? If you actually are going to fuck him I'd love to see my hard work put to good use."

 

Elias rests his chin on Jon's shoulder, considering. Wondering a little how he ever thought that Peter loved him. He's very handsome, and very capable, and behind that there's just an empty expanse, interrupted only by shifting fog.

"I'd prefer you to go," he admits, even though he appreciates the sight of him laid out and luxurious in the afterglow. "But if you must stay 'til the end then you can sit in the chair and keep quiet." An offer he makes mostly because this isn't a free exchange, and he doesn't want to suddenly find caveats tacked on to Peter leaving them both in peace.

Whatever decision Peter makes, Elias is done paying attention to him, focus returning to the man shivering in his arms. Can't stop touching him now that he's allowing it of himself, his hands running over Jon's arms, his shoulders and back. Murmurs in Jon's ear how good he's been, how hard it made Elias to watch him taking everything Peter gave him, how ready is to take his turn with that slutty hole. And then he tumbles Jon backwards into the mattress.

 

A kind man would leave but Peter has never been truly kind, chuckling as he gets up and settles pointedly in the chair to watch. He is, at least, quiet as instructed, and Jon doesn't notice him. He's far too used to the feeling of being watched.

Jon can already feel himself growing fully hard again, not just from the words but the affection he laps up desperately. He's in a strange place, body buzzing and mind churning with a blessedly slow pace. After Peter it's such a bizarre change- the ability to touch, to speak, the genuine care in the soft touches. It's emotional whiplash and he murmurs Elias' name quiet abandon, inhaling sharply when Elias tumbles them back. 

He spreads his legs without thinking about it at all, just an attempt to slot Elias against him more easily. He blindly runs his hands up Elias' arms, over his back, up to the back of his neck and back again.

 

 _Elias_ notices him, aware of Peter's eyes on them, but he doesn't bother with performance, refuses to be self-conscious. Digs his knee into the mattress and shifts his hips, first back, back, and then forward, until his cock slides and catches on Jon's rim.

"God, Jon," he murmurs hoarsely, and kisses him, his mouth still all swollen with use. It's as much of a mess as where he pushes into him, sliding home with no resistance. It's so much after so long without even touching himself, Jon s img tight around him, and for long minutes he just holds Jon close, grinding into him without ever really pulling back, little swivels of his hips as he remembers how to breathe.

Once his heart rate settles, once the lightning brightness in his gut is a little less intense, he pulls back from Jon's mouth and looks down at him. "I'm going to lift the blindfold," he says, because he wants to see Jon, or more accurately wants Jon to see him — eye contact is as intimate to Elias as penetration, for obvious reason, and he pushes the fabric out of the way and off, looks down into Jon's face as he adjusts to his returned sight.

"My Archivist," he says again, with a fond quirk to his mouth, brushes their noses together. Starts to move in long, slow thrusts, still as demanding as Peter, still as incapable of mercy, but without any of that empty cruelty. Though that isn't to say he doesn't know what Jon likes; when he bows to kiss him again like he's taking a long drink of water, his teeth get involved, his mouth comes away bloody.

 

Jon shudders, trying to lean up for a kiss but too uncoordinated and blind to find his way. When Elias does the work for him- leans down and presses their lips together and enters him with far more ease than Peter had - he gasps into Elias' mouth, groans, wraps his arms tight around him as he simply grinds and otherwise stays close. He buries his face in Elias' neck just to ride out the intensity of it, the strange feeling of loneliness Peter left him fading.

When the blindfold comes off he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, sucking in a breath when he opened them. His hands slide to cup Elias' face shakily, tracing his cheekbones with his thumbs, taking the sight in as greedily as the affection before. He picks apart the expression, hoards it jealously, eyes wide. He finds himself wanting to ask things despite his daze- if Elias enjoyed this, if he was satisfied, what was he _feeling_ , and if that particular question had slipped there was no way he'd be able to keep compulsion out of the words.

He doesn't speak though, at least not the questions, inhaling when Elias uses that title so fondly. For once he doesn't spare a single thought about how he shouldn't find it pleasing. 

When Elias begins to move Jon gasps his name, moans and whines into the kiss with a higher pitch of desperation than before. Blood and sweetness was a strange combination but Jon's weak for it, licking into Elias' mouth stubbornly and sloppily. Tear prickle in his eyes from the overstimulation of each movement, raw nerves slid against, the same bruising pace without the emptiness. When they break away Jon presses his face to Elias' neck again, biting the skin there to muffle a particularly sharp cry. He only hazily seems to realize as much, leaving a bloody kiss in spot when he manages to pull away, apologetic in a distracted way.

 

The bite makes Elias groan, and his pace picks up. He repays him in kind, of course, a sharp and deliberate series of nips down to Jon's collarbone, a firmer bite into the muscle of his shoulder that very nearly breaks skin. But he can't go long without eye contact, and if Jon tries to hide in his neck again Elias will pull him back sharply by the hair, holding him in place to be looked at. 

Between all of this and the way he's been aching the whole day Elias has no chance at real stamina, but he does edge himself just a little, pulling out right when he feels on the brink, letting his cock twitch helplessly against Jon's thigh while he catches his breath, then sinking in again. But even that isn't sustainable, and Elias comes in a giddy rush, sinking himself tightly into Jon and staying there. He's quiet about it, noises bitten back and eyes fallen shut, but it must be obvious when his whole body goes limp with pleasure after.

"I'm not done with you," he promises Jon, no louder than a murmurs, forcing his eyes open. He hasn't even properly caught his breath when he pulls out, pulls back, slipping through Jon's embrace to slide down his body with intent. Jon would be forgiven for assuming he's going to get another blowjob, but instead Elias just presses his thighs back towards his chest and holds him in place for his mouth, eats him out sloppily and shamelessly, gets a hand around his cock and rims him until he comes all over himself. Only then does he sit up and let Jon fall back to the mattress, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and looking deeply pleased.

Then he looks up at Peter, eyes bright, probably the most warmth he's shown to the man since he arrived. "I know we're all going to die alone and it's terrible," he says blithely, one hand absently rubbing over Jon's trembling thigh. "But this bed is big enough for three, if you'd like." And he's feeling very, very generous in his afterglow, satisfied to the bone.

 

Needless to say Jon rather loses sense of things, breathing out Elias' name on the tail end of cries, trying to watch but far too often losing focus. He groans in deep satisfaction when Elias goes limp over him, running his hands over him, cock trapped between them in a way that's painful and perfect. 

He nearly whines when Elias pulls out, weakly grasping to bring him back, only faintly understanding Elias' intent to bring him to completion and most certainly not understand how until Elias' tongue is cleaning him out. It doesn't take long with that, choked cries and Elias _please_ and blinking back tears and then he's come again with more force than he thought his body would be capable of.

He practically collapses, chest heaving and lips bloody, shaking. Peter watches with something of an unreadable look, eye flicking to Elias when the offer is posed. There's a beat of silence from him before whatever strange mood had taken him cracks and he laughs, sharp and deep. He stands.

"You're generous when you're sated," he says, regarding the bed and it's two rather messy inhabitants before climbing on. He pauses again to grasp Elias chin, not the demanding grip he used on Jon but considering, and he gives time to pull away in surprising consideration before he leans forward to lick away the trace of blood on his lips if allowed.

 

Elias goes still, and his eyes close — nothing on earth could make him tense right now but there's definitely a sense of quiet resistance as Peter's tongue swipes at him. His mouth is filthy, mingled come and blood, and he lets Peter have it passively for a few moments before he can't stand it anymore and pulls away.

He thought he was past this hurt. Apparently letting himself care about Jon means having to acknowledge older wounds, as well. 

"Not that generous," he says darkly, climbing off the bed (we're going to say I remembered to write him shedding his robe; he doesn't now retrieve it.) "Look after him, please. I'm going to get us some water." And a damp cloth for the mess they've made of Jon.

 

Elias' tone has Peter smiling softly and licking his lips, satisfied in his own edgelord way as he nods. "Of course," he agrees, watches Elias go before turning to focus on Jon. He places a hand on Jon's stomach, still sticky with come, expression faintly curious as Jon curls towards him and the touch like a flower to the sun. 

He considers, briefly, breaking the quiet and Jon's delusions about who was touching him. He settles instead for mapping what clean skin there was, enjoying the trembling that hadn't yet subsided, and waits for Elias' return patiently. Generously.

 

Elias comes back with two water bottles, tosses one to Peter as he passes. There's a drawer in his wardrobe with winter blankets, and he retrieves the softest of them before coming back to the bed. 

Caretaking comes very easily to him. Elias cleans up Jon with methodical practicality, then hauls him up the bed. Sits back amidst the pillows and takes Jon into his arms, draping the blanket around them both. It's practically an aftercare checklist: clean-up, warmth, closeness. And hydration, of course, as he brings the bottle to Jon's mouth for little sips. 

He presses a kiss to Jon's hair, looks over his head at Peter, and then extends a hand. "I know you know how to at least pretend to be soft," he says with a hint of bitterness.

 

Jon does little to help Elias, feeling mostly like a dead weight, like his limbs were lead and even lifting his hand to angle the water bottle took energy he didn't care to use. He realizes, in the bone deep satisfaction and intense exhaustion, that maybe he had taken a few too many statements in the past few days. His body felt like it was stubbornly refusing him, taking this chance to rest greedily and intently. He's silently glad for Elias' methodical care because he's fairly sure he'd have fallen asleep with drying come on his stomach and stayed that way until late into the next day.

Peter, meanwhile, watches the process with faint amusement. He shifts when the hand is presented, joining them, cuddling for likely the first time since he and Elias were together. Whatever he feels about it is quite hard to say, his expression remaining level as he reaches over to trace the marks he and Elias left on Jon's neck. "Are you satisfied, Elias? Was it everything you wanted?" he asks, tone soft and out of place.

 

Elias makes a place for him beneath the blanket, curling an arm over his shoulders and letting him cuddle up to Jon. Now that they're all settled he lets himself relax a little again, enjoy his own afterglow somewhat belatedly.

"Yes," says Elias without hesitance, watching Peter touch Jon — knows with certainty that his fingers are where they are just to gall, and refuses to rise to it. His head drops back, and he looks at Peter with heavy lids. "You both did very well." A slight smirk, knowing that if Jon's awake he'll soak up that praise, but that for Peter it's mostly patronizing.

"And you?" he asks, curious. "You certainly looked like you had a good time."

 

"You know your praise means everything to me," Peter answers cheekily, unlike Jon who does indeed soak up the praise and shifts slightly closer to Elias in response. Peter chuckles at it, shaking his head and clearly resisting the urge to prod at one of the deeper bruises Elias' teeth left. 

He's quiet for a few moments, thoughtful at the question and atmosphere, before he answers a different question entirely. "When I report back I'll tell them he's too deeply bound to you to be viable, and vice versa. It doesn't mean they won't make their own attempts, you know my ah.... reputation," he sounds amused at that. "But, not to toot my own horn, I imagine if anyone was going to steal him from you it'd be me. I'm sure the rest of my family won't be much of a challenge. You might even have some fun with it."

 

Elias exhales lightly. "Good," he says. He isn't particularly prone to self-reflection, so he doesn't consider what is says that they've managed to convince Peter, if this will still all feel as real once he's gone, just accepts that he's accomplished what he intended to — on multiple counts. 

His arm is light around Peter's shoulders, and he lifts his hand to stroke idly through his hair, nails scratching over his scalp. "You know," he says, managing to sound impressively casual. "If you ever grow weary of your family, I assure you that feeding the Eye provides a constant companionship. And it has so much to give in return." He traces the shell of Peter's ear. "Enough to fill even you, I think."

 

Peter can't help but laugh, the movement shaking Jon against him who merely makes a soft noise at being jostled. "You're just as insatiable as ever. I won't say it doesn't have it's appeal, being part of your collection. May even be worth it to see how much the Eye is willing to give to fill something up that goes a little deeper than you might think."

He doesn't lean into Elias' faint touch but he does close his eyes against it, rather like a wine tasting in the way he hums in consideration. "You know when I was younger- human, if we're going there- I considered running away to the Eye. I knew there was no escaping the family's devotion without devoting myself to another, and the Eye is... well, to a human it seems much better a choice than others, eh? A foolish way to think, but still."

He opens his eyes to smile at Elias. "Obviously it didn't happen. Fun to wonder where we'd be now if it did."

 

"You probably would have received my promotion," Elias says, because who better than to negotiate with the Institute's patrons than a Lukas himself? His mind wants to take all the facts and run through the possibilities for a real answer to that little what-if; he doesn't let it. Reoriented himself in the now by pulling Jon a little tighter to him.

"Do consider it," he says mildly, letting his hand drop back to Peter's shoulder, holding his gaze for a moment. For all Peter's claiming he's insatiable, there's an offer in Elias' eyes, an unspoken promise that he could have — this, presumably, Elias and Jon both. "It would be nice," he admits in a murmur, "To have someone to talk to while he sleeps."

 

Peter regards him for several long moments, expression rather hard to pin though there's something there, in the hollowness. His lips quirk and it's the closest thing to a true smile he's held in a while, no playacting, no show.

"Do you want to know why I'm different from my family?" He murmurs, fingers tracing from Jon's neck to Elias' arm, idle. "They gave themselves over completely, there's nothing in them at all. It's the coward's way- no humanity, not even the smallest sliver, means it doesn't _ache_. They're like pawns, forced to feed their god through others, expendable. Pointless. Evan had the right idea, even if he was foolish enough to try and run away. We always come back. There's no escaping it."

He chuckles, eyes lidded as he regards them both. "You already have me, Elias. Both of you do. I don't have nearly enough in me to love but... ah, it's something. It's perfect, really. If you fail, you lose him or he loses you, it'll be crushing to me. If you succeed despite all odds I'll only ever be able to watch from the side, think about what I can't really have between visits. Ache, like my family can't, and that feeds it. It's wonderful when you embrace it." He smile over at Elias. "Maybe not the answer you're hoping for, yeah? But it is an answer, and I know how you love those."

 

Not much surprises Elias; this does.

Peter touches him and he shivers, but doesn't shake it off. Not when it becomes clear what Peter is saying: that he cares for them both, that he's invested in their relationship. Elias doesn't understand how to take exquisite pleasure in loneliness, so to him it just seems tragic; he imagines it would be even moreso to Jon. But Jon is fairly sound asleep by now. Elias kisses his hair again, trying to unravel the knot of emotion that's suddenly twisted up inside him.

"I apologize," he says seriously, "For not thinking you sincere." In his interest in the both of them, even if Elias knows Peter's interest is not founded in the fact that, say, Jon looks beautiful like this, thick lashes and delicate eyelids and brightly bruised mouth. Or the fact that Elias never really stopped loving him, just made sure he hated him more.

" _Will_ you visit?" he asks, and lifts a hand to stroke across Peter's cheekbone and over his lips, a touch more like a kiss than when Peter tried for his mouth earlier.

 

"No need, Elias, I won't pretend for a moment your pain wasn't part of the feast I offered up," Peter answers. "I hurt you, which hurt me, all to feed it. I never expected you to accept that, though I imagine you're quite a lot more experienced now with the sacrifices people like us make."

He wonders if Elias has any idea how intensely and luxuriously painful this moment is, his guard lowered just enough to really drive the knife in. It's a feeling he'll think about for months. He parts his lips slightly when Elias touches them, smiles into the touch then murmuring, "Of course, when I can. You can't give a man a night like this and expect him not to want to indulge again." The he chuckles, "Hm, I suppose we should hope your Archivist will want me to visit as well, but I have the feeling that's not much of a worry. Even if he didn't he'd do it for you. So sweet." He teases.

 

Elias can't even conceive of this level of masochism, the zealotry it must take, to still be able to feel the human abhorrence for loneliness even while perpetuating it on oneself. To dip as far into monstrousness as Peter has and still be cognizant of that monstrousness. He just assumed all that dangerous playfulness over emptiness was exactly that.

At least now he feels like he understands a little better why Peter's here, curled up in the bed with the both of them. Elias traces his smile carefully, like it's the blade of a knife. Wonders what it would take for him to stay.

"We started this as a ruse," he admits; stories of stories, truths for truths, Elias likes to repay information. "All of, what, two days before your arrival." He makes himself stop touching Peter's mouth, plays with Jon's hair instead. "I've loved him for a long time — or, the Eye has. I don't think I would have done anything about it if your family hadn't forced me hand." He looks amused, then, like he can see the irony in the Lukases being the ones to have brought this into his life — though he does understand that he is more susceptible to acute loneliness again now, after years of numbness.

 

Peter laughs, loudly enough he needs to stop himself as it makes Jon stir. His shoulders shake with silent laughter as Jon settles again, running a hand through his own hair as he exhales. "I _knew_ it, or at least that's what I assumed before I got here. I figured you were playing possessive again with your pawns, that'd it be fun to have a bit of a tug-of-war over them. Imagine my surprise when you took it so _personally_."

He chuckles, watching Elias play with Jon's hair, smile serene and aching. "You don't waste any time, do you? Well, take this warning at least- watch out for Nathaniel. I know I said my family's a breeze in comparison but he's surprised me on occasion. I can never quite read how much he wants something until he's given up or sacrificed more than his fair share of blood for it."

 

"Your brother doesn't scare me," Elias says, and there's no false bravado in it. He's smiling, feeling strangely foolish — it's relief, maybe, or perhaps he just likes seeing Peter genuinely laughing. 

He pulls him in close then. Maybe Peter can't unknow lonliness enough to ever throw over his family and join Elias, but he can at least stop looking so distantly melancholy when he has two men right there in his arms. 

"Come here," he says commandingly, and oh, he has changed since the first time 'round. Cups Peter's jaw and kisses him, slow and easy and agreeable. "Mm," he hums. "I'm going to miss you. How annoying."

 

"Ha, he shouldn't, Nathaniel thinks he's smarter than he is. The only dangerous thing about him is how much he's willing to sacrifice to get what he wants," Peter answers, clearly extremely entertained by the thought of his brother and Elias butting heads. "Whatever the outcome will be quite acceptable for me, though try not to get blindsided by him, yeah? Nathaniel's a real cunt when he pretends he isn't gloating." Potty mouth.

Peter accepts it with a huff, marveling at how easily agents of the Eye were swayed by information. It was truthful information, of course, and he wasn't nearly human enough to understand why this changed anything in Elias, but he enjoys it all the same. The bittersweet feelings went down better than Elias' cool anger of before. 

He nips at Elias' bottom lip as he pulls back, just hard enough to sting, and grins. "Good. I'll have to make sure to visit before that feeling cools. Maybe after my next voyage, in another month or so. Try to keep your Archivist alive until then, yeah?" He wasn't quite as concerned with Elias surviving. He was quite good at that.

 

"I'll do my best," Elias says, and means it. He touches his tongue to his lower lip, considering the sting, the way Peter just can't help himself. Things feel foundationally changed between them, some basic understanding of Peter shifting into place, enough that it's easier to trust him.

"Help me get Jon under the covers," he decides. "He's going to be dead to the world for a while, I imagine, and you're not to wake him." Together they manage to accomplish this, getting everyone more horizontal and more tucked in. 

"I'm going to get some sleep," he tells Peter, though it takes a long time after he closes his eyes and settles into Jon for him to actually drift off. And he wakes the next morning at his usual early hour.

 

Peter helps, even makes an effort not to wake Jon as he does so. There's the briefest moment of confusion as he tries to figure out how one fit against another like this, a sort of disconnect he quickly remedies, placing a loose arm over their waists as he settled.

"Night, Elias," he sounds amused by the idea of Elias sleeping. Whether he falls asleep quickly or not is hard to tell, his breath almost pointedly even but barely there.


	6. morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content includes: Bottom Elias, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, D/s, Safewords, Consent Play (with safeword in place), Edging, Creampies, Masturbation.

In the morning Peter stirs when Elias does, groaning dramatically like Elias waking up was annoying. "Go back to sleep, I don't need to open my eyes to know it's too damn early," he complains. Someone is still not a morning person, despite the rigid schedule of sailing. Jon is still very much dead to the world, heavily sleeping off both the night before and the excess of statements. He rubs his face against Elias' shoulder, mumbling something in his sleep that's likely just nonsense.

"Yeah, what he said," Peter says with a jaw cracking yawn.

 

Elias presses a fond kiss to Jon's forehead, runs a hand down his side, and then extricates himself from the tangle of limbs in the bed, careful not to jostle too much. 

"No," he says, clambering nimbly over the shape of Jon beneath the covers and putting his hands on Peter's chest, sitting his weight atop him like an overlarge house cat and peering down at him. "Some of us have things to do." Though he isn't going off to do them, just looking down at Peter with interest, charmed by him all sleep-rumpled and grumpy. "You go back to sleep," he decides, then bends down and brushes a kiss over the corner of his mouth.

 

Peter chuckles, running a hand up Elias' hip before smiling serenely just as he grabbed Elias' wrists in a firm grip. "Negotiate with me then, I see no reason I should let you go," he responds innocently. "The way I see it I could flip us over right now and see if you can stay quiet enough not to wake the Archivist. That sounds infinitely more interesting than your proposal."

 

Elias glances across at Jon, all soft in sleep. "You're incorrigible," he says fondly, looking back to Peter, relaxed into his grip like it doesn't bother him, though he also doesn't seem inclined to let Peter move him from being on top. He runs a little less malleable these days, even for this man. "Are you really going to ruin your own lie in to get a leg over?" He's still close, and he presses his mouth slowly along Peter's jawline, leaning more weight on his elbows. "If you are, I'll be much more compliant if we _don't_ use this bed." So yes, he's trying not to risk waking Jon.

 

"Always the negotiator," Peter sighs, though there's clear enjoyment in his grasp and tone. This is an interesting new world he's found himself in, to be sure. "Even if you're a little harder around the edges now. I think I like it."

He takes a moment to enjoy Elias' explorations before giving a truly put out sigh. "I suppose I could be tempted to the living room, if waking poor old Jon here is too daunting a crime. If I'm going to ruin my lie in as you say I might as well do so thoroughly."

 

Elias bites him, a wicked little pinch, and then sits himself back up again. "Yes please," he says, shakes off Peter's grasp like he was never really worried it would be restrictive, and gets up. Stands beside the bed and gives a long, upward-reaching stretch that crackles his spine, and probably provides no little amount of temptation.

There's still lube on the nightstand, and he takes it with him when he swans out to go put some coffee on. Probably the very best part of sleeping with everyone in this flat is he doesn't have to bother about clothes, and he cuts a grecian figure when Peter emerges from the bedroom, bent over the kitchen counter on his elbows, mug in his hands. He's nervous but refusing to show it.

"I'm skipping the gym for this," he informs Peter, "So I'll expect to be put through my paces."

 

Peter watches him, wonders if there really was some world where the Eye could have claimed him since he could certainly understand the appeal of _watching_. Maybe not well enough, since he gets up rather than indulging that any longer. Being an active participant was more tempting, in the end.

When Peter was still human he found shame was a useless thing, something he cut out of himself like an unpleasant growth and never looked back. It certainly helped now, walking through a home that was in now way his, not a stitch of clothing or anything even remotely approaching modesty. It also helps with how he looks Elias over, unabashed and smiling with a softness that rings false.

He walks over, placing a hand on the small of Elias' back, leaning in conspiratorially. "So many demands, but I think I can manage. Put down your ground rules now, Elias. I'd rather not waste anymore time."

 

Elias sips his coffee and then puts the mug on the counter, straightens and turns a little, though doesn't close any distance between them. There's a readiness about him, as if he's preparing to fight. "Stop if I say stop, don't for anything else, no _hickeys_ or broken bones..." those come easy, but he's obviously still thinking. "It's been a while, ask if you want anything outlandish. And if you want obedience you'll have to deserve it, obviously." That much hasn't changed; Elias is not an easy sub, especially not these days. 

"Oh," he adds, "And if you involve Jonathan without his comprehensive consent, if you try and use him to upset me, we're done." They're probably not going to wake him up out here, but it still feels like it bears saying. Jon is his most vulnerable place and he doesn't want it poked. "I'm giving you this because I love you, Peter, don't make me regret it."

 

Peter, for all his bullshit, listens without interjecting. His fingers run up Elias' back as he does so, lips quirking when Elias mentions _hickies_ and thumbing the bite Jon left the night before. He closes his eyes at _love_ , savouring that ache, and chuckles when he opens them again.

"You realize making you regret it is rather tempting for me," he answers, palm flat on the back of Elias' neck. "But I'd like to make this last, so I'll agree." He reaches over, trying to pluck the coffee from Elias' hands. Impatient fucker. "We'll start slow then, yeah?"

Slow for Peter was not any less unrelenting, to be fair.

 

Elias lets him take it, put it aside — he wasn't finished, but whatever. He runs that now empty hand over Peter's chest, up to his shoulder. Drums his fingers there, pale eyes usually so distant and measuring now slight with anticipation. It really has been a while.

"I'd rather start hard," he murmurs, challenging. But he leans in then, offers up a kiss. "And what are your ground rules, Mr Lukas," he all but purrs.

 

"Ah, is that so?" Peter smiles into the kiss, kisses back almost languidly, hand cupping the back of Elias' neck. When he pulls back he's still smiling, even when he rather roughly tightens his grip and pushes Elias so he's bent over the counter. His tone is pure amusement. "Like this?"

He keeps his grip, firm and unrelenting. Yeah, Elias would need to say that 'stop' for him to let up. "You always did look good like this," he says fondly, then hums in consideration. "Hm, my ground rules. You use your ability to say stop, I don't have much interest otherwise, but that goes without saying. "

 

It's not totally unexpected, the cool marble against his skin, but Elias' breath still catches at the contact and his skin goosefleshes. Peter pushes him down and Elias pushes back against that firm grip. Despite that little struggle: "Of course," Elias promises."You'll know if I want you to." Notably after this agreement he doesn't then _say_ stop, just attempts to wriggle away. It's not a communication issue, he just likes to struggle a little bit, doesn't want to give in easily. But yes, god, _just_ like this.

 

"It really has been a long time," Peter's tone is still fond and edging on nostalgic, a sharp contrast to his grip which most certainly and knowingly remains just a touch painful. He reaches for the lubricant Elias brought with him, amused. "You didn't bring a condom, I notice. I'm allowed to make a mess of you too then?" he teases. "I'm sure there's creative solutions if you were just... forgetful."

Someone's having too much fun. He takes a moment to enjoy the view, and the token struggle- well, maybe not so token with Elias. "If I let go will you be good and stay?"

 

"I'm never forgetful," Elias points out. Memory is just about the whole of him. Except then there's this, too, a bruising grip and the heady promise of having his body used — he hasn't been fucked in such a long time.

And yet: "No," he answers honestly. "Not unless you make it worth my while. And even then I'm afraid the best you can hope for is the staying." Being good isn't really in his wheelhouse.

 

"That's what I was hoping," Peter answers, leaning down to press a kiss Elias' shoulder even as he dug his nails in. He never said no marks that _weren't_ hickies. Fine print and all. 

He steps behind Elias fully, crowding him against the counter and making it difficult to move let alone escape. He's half hard now, some Elias can no doubt feel rather distinctly from this position, and he hums when he releases Elias' neck to uncap the lubricant. He spreads it over his fingers liberally, not all that concerned when drops of excess fall along Elias' back.

"You've always been more fun when you're being stubborn," he explain, pressing one hand flat against Elias' back as the slick hand reached down. He bypasses to Elias' cock, grasping it with a playful force. "Now, I think I have a little demand of my own. Fair, yeah? I'm not going to fuck you unless you ask me for it." He strokes up, slow and firm. "I haven't decided if it has to be nicely yet. We'll see."

 

The moment he lets go Elias tries to wriggle away again, but he's pinned in place by Peter's body, and quickly subsides — maybe it is a token effort after all. It's not like he really wants to go anywhere when he can hear the slick crackle of lubricant as Peter— 

Completely ignores where he wants them.

Elias laughs a little desperately, pressing his forehead to the countertop, and goes up on his toes, lifting his ass just to be provocative. Peter's grip on his cock is tight, and if he was only halfway to hard that's rapidly changing, throbbing into his hand as Elias gives his first soft groan.

"Dammit, Peter," he says, delighted and exasperated all at once.

 

Peter keeps his pace so very slow, and even if Elias can't see the amusement quirking his lips it's clearly there. "Something wrong, Elias?" he asks innocently, tracing the crescent marks of his nails as he continued. The touch is strangely gentle compared to the firm grip he has on Elias' cock.

He stops stroking after he's gotten Elias good and hard, resting an elbow on Elias' back and his chin in his hand because he is that much of a shit. "Communication is key, you know. I'm all ears."

 

Elias catches his breath when Peter finally stops jerking him off, even if he does give a little noise of disapproval, shifts his hips a little like he thinks he could possibly grind off on the counter's edge. (Spoilers: he can't.)

A part of him wonders what Peter would do if he stayed stubborn, if he'd be coaxed or punished. "Don't forget, I have far more patience than you do," he tells Peter, but despite that it isn't — infinite. He exhales harshly, annoyed. "But yes, I want you to fuck me. Truth be told I'd like you to wreck me; you're going to be gone a while, after all." (None of those words are even pretending to be a request.)

 

"Is that so?" Peter chuckles, starts moving his hand again, this time with a much more intense pace. He doesn't let up even as he hums in agreement to Elias' answer. His hand on Elias' back presses him down further.

"I think-" He says, stopping again only when Elias begins to show the slightest signs of impatience or coming close. Trembling, squirming, hitches in breath- old signs he hasn't seen in quite some time. "-that I'd like that asked nicely, if you will. Of course we can keep going like this for as long as you like. You're right, I don't have as much patience as you, but it would be worth it to see if I can keep you like this until the Archivist wakes up. I think he'd enjoy the sight, don't you?"

 

"Don't," Elias says, forceful, because he meant it when he told Peter to leave Jon out of this, and that includes letting him walk in on them. (Not just because of the position he's found himself in — he's a little concerned it would be hurtful somehow, when they haven't at all discussed it.) "Use your bloody power if you have to."

It's strained — everything about him is strained right now, Peter having dragged him bodily towards the edge and then snatched him back from it, leaving him hooked and wriggling. He's moved his arm, just so he can have something to bite down on, leaving teeth marks on the back of his own wrist. 

The gall of it is: Peter knows what he wants. Peter wants to give it to him. Elias would have been perfectly happy to go about his morning as usual. But Peter won't let him frame this as a favour, won't even let him pretend that he's here unwillingly, probably won't even let Elias tell himself anybody could do this to him and it would be this good. It's like he's found the one thing Elias doesn't want to give him, but isn't willing to stop for, either. 

When he gives, it feels foundational, like he's truly letting Peter have something he cut out, locked away. "Damn you," he breathes helplessly. "All right. Will you fuck me? Please."

 

"Now that's tempting," Peter breaths, even though it'd be rather difficult to tell the empty living room from a world where there was no one but them. Peter could always feel it like a deep, satisfying ache, even with Elias' very vivid presence. He denies himself it for no other reason than he was always a masochist like that.

He waits, patient, and leans down to give the back of Elias' neck a mocking sort of kiss. He avoids the bite Jon left, kindly deciding not to poke even remotely at that tender point anymore. He can play by the rules, on occasion.

"Very good, Elias," he praises, the same mockery from the kiss on his tone, and he wastes no time pressing a finger rather roughly into him. "Like this? Do give me direction, I would hate to disappoint." He's at least got a breathiness to his voice that wasn't there before, despite all the merciless teasing.

 

Elias shivers at the mocking praise, grunts at the sudden intrusion. and then hisses a quiet, "Yes, fuck," because _finally_. The stretch burns, especially when it's been so long, and Elias wouldn't ordinarily consider himself a masochist but it's precisely what he wants from Peter right now.

So: "More," is the direction he gives, pressing back for it shamelessly, his breath coming rapidly through his nose. Tries to remember his manners. "If you'd be so obliging. I wanted your dick inside me ten minutes ago, so don't hold back, thank you."

 

"Only you could be so diplomatically demanding," Peter presses another finger in, movements slow out of teasing rather than caution. That doesn't stop the jabs from being rough, demanding in their own way, testing Elias in a pointed and unforgiving manner.

"I missed this," he murmurs as though that were a lovely feeling in it's own right, a somewhat sharp contrast to unrelenting pace. He pulls his fingers apart just so, just to see how much Elias could take, constantly chasing the edge of too much or too soon. "So forgive me, Elias, if I make this last."

He shoves his fingers a few more times, rough and arhythmic thrusts, before pulling them out with the same lack of care. He pulls back slightly, pressing a thumb to the edge of Elias' hole as he inspected his work. "Hm, good enough, I think," he says before reaching for the bottle again.

 

Elias clings to the counter, overwhelmed by Peter's gentle admittance as much as his far less gentle pace. If before he was all squirmy struggle, though, now his whole body has gone readily accepting; there's no process when Peter twists his hand in a way that briefly tips over into actual hurt. Elias cries out, guttural, and then groans, "Don't stop."

So Peter, of course, barely gives him much more before stopping. Asshole. Elias finds he can't complain, though, not when he's getting what he wanted. He feels flushed, aching, heavy between the legs and so raw where Peter's going to go. 

"Here," he says, like it's an imposition, and puts both arms behind his back without being asked, clutching his own forearms and offering them up to be used like reins. This means he's going to be flat against the counter, of course, but he can live with that.

 

There's the click of the cap again behind Elias' head, the soft groan as Peter slicked himself up after so long of ignoring his own growing need. He chuckles as he lines up, gripping the offered arms tight with his free hand. "You can never just gracefully admit what you want when it comes to this, can you?" He asks as he presses in with little care to Elias adjusting. It's almost too much for him as well, and when he's bottomed out he's forced to hold still, take a few deep breaths.

"Always hide it one way or another. It's charming," he informs him, breathy and low, grinding his hips a few moments before exhaling and pulling back. Of course Elias made what he wanted very clear so Peter doesn't waste any time snapping right back, pushing forward and pulling Elias back onto him at the same time, the same force. The first few thrusts are slow, pointed and exploratory, waiting to see how Elias responded to each loud smack.

 

Elias doesn't care how much Peter teases; he's still getting what he wanted. The sensation of being filled beyond the point of comfort, the wrench in his shoulders when Peter pulls him back to meet his sharp thrusts. It means he can go hard, without having to worry about bloodying Elias's mouth on the counter — it also means Elias can't brace himself, can't do anything but bear down when Peter fucks him so that he sinks in deep and easy. He's helpless; a rare pleasure.

His hips slam into Elias again, who groans softly, all the fight gone out of him now. "Is that all you've got for me?" he goads breathlessly, legs slipping wider. "I think Jon could probably do a better job if he really set his mind to the task."

 

"You're just making my point," Peter answers, and continues slowly just to frustrate Elias all the more. "Sometimes I wonder if you try to goad me just so I'll do the opposite. But ah... far be it from me to psychoanalyze in the bedroom." Or kitchen counter, as it were. Jon would be very unimpressed by the cleanliness of this.

He keeps the slow pace, just as bruising, each thrust a loud slap that would likely be just loud enough for Jon to hear if he wasn't sleeping and blissfully ignorant. For a while it seems like he may make Elias beg for more speed, more force, just _more_ in general. Something shift eventually and naturally though, the pace picking up steadily until Peter's breath comes quickly from the exertion of it. If there was any attempt at being careful or gentle before it's gone now, just force and demand he doesn't give Elias a chance to adjust for.

He's apparently incapable of not mocking because he slams in and stays there, taking deep breaths as he reaches to grab Elias' hair and pull his head back to speak into his ear. "That what you had in mind?"

 

Elias groans in response, too winded now to find the words — or maybe just overstimulated, he was ready to come before Peter put anything inside him, and now that he's having fantasies he hasn't dared admit to in about a decade dragged into the light of day he's not exactly calming down any. He's sweaty, panting. His cock aches, and not just because it's getting knocked around by the more brutal pace.

Everything hurts; he's going to have a line of bruise along on his hips from the unforgiving stone, and his shoulders and calves are going to be sore for days, and he's bitten his own lip bloody. This stupid, useless human shell feels split open and raw, but the pain goes sideways somewhere in Elias' brain and makes him hard, leaves him adrenal and mindless.

"Peter," he manages to choke out, wiggling a little bit unable to move; without the thrusting Peter is just a rigid intrusion inside him, driving him mad. He wants to be allowed to finish so badly that he doesn't even need to be prompted to beg: "Please," he gets out, "Please come in me." Squeezing himself vice-tight for emphasis, because he knows Peter isn't going to touch his cock again until he's reached his own peak, and maybe not even then.

 

Peter lets out a contented noise at the begging, a strangely soft kiss to Elias' temple before he begins to thrust again, just as unrelenting as before. This time it felt different though, the focus shifting from winding Elias up to his own enjoyment of Elias' body, of tightness and heat and every familiarity slightly warped with time.

He groans from exertion, his grip on Elias' arms bruising. He hadn't been gentle with Jon by any means but there was something held back there and not here, not with Elias who he knows can take what he gives. It's hard to say what does it for him in the end- the way his head empties of anything but this, the sounds Elias makes, the painful edge both physical and not so tangible. He chokes out Elias' name has bottoms out hard one last time, coming in him as requested, breath hot against Elias' neck.

Peter takes only a moment before pulling out, flipping Elias over and hiking him up by the hips, encouraging him to sit on the counter. "Go on, finish yourself off," he breaths, clearly intent on watching as his come dripped from Elias. Again, Jon would not be impressed by come on the counter Peter, gross.

 

Peter just puts him where he wants him, which is about as hot as hearing him (feeling him) come. Elias can barely keep himself upright, throwing back one shaky arm to prop himself up, but the other goes immediately to his cock.

He's gentle with it; it's endured a lot of abuse after all. Strokes it lightly, his eyes falling shut at the familiar sensation made brighter than usual by need and pain.

"Fuck," he says, letting it smack damply up against his stomach and pressing his fingers lower instead, sinking back into the deep, hollow ache that Peter's left in him. It's obscenely noisy, but he wants it too bad to care, pressing up and into himself with short vowel noises on every breath. He suddenly badly wishes Jon were here; Peter's hot but Jon is _devoted,_ would probably willingly take Elias in his mouth just like he'd taken Peter—

Elias switches back to his cock and strokes himself rapidly over the finish line, arm giving out so that he ends up on one elbow, wrung out. He's still clutching himself for long moments after, very thoroughly made an incoherent mess of. Or mostly incoherent; he manages to reach out a leg and toe at Peter entreatingly: "Bed?" (Yes, this is a request to be carried there, one he would never make if he was entirely himself.)

 

Peter watches, expression again edging on something not entirely empty as he does. It doesn't last, it never can, but while it's there he's hungry for it, for watching Elias finger himself with abandon and no thought to dignity. (Still dignified somehow anyway, which is so very Elias it aches in a lovely way.)

He chuckles at the demand, moving away a moment and coming back with a damp dish rag (again, not the use for it, Peter!) and wipes Elias down. The treatment is just as rough as the rest of him but thorough, and when he's done he tosses the rag in the sink and hefts Elias up, one arm under his knees and the other bracing his back.

"No thank you?" What a prick. He pecks the top of Elias' head and carries him back to the bed, settling him in his spot next to Jonathan. He doesn't move to climb in, watches as Jon seems to shift closer to the source of warmth by instinct, still dead to the world. The hand he has stroking Elias' hair is soft.

"I'm taking a shower and making a few calls. Been putting off the family long enough," he explains. "Try to get some sleep, huh old man? You're not spry enough to take a fucking like that without a nap."

 

There is also no dignity in being princess carried through your own apartment, but Elias somehow manages to make it look like he's being held aloft on a litter like old fashioned royalty. Stretches out when he's put down, all sweet with endorphins, and catches at Peter's work-calloused hand with his own more elegant one. Kisses the palm lightly and lets it go.

"Piss off," he says genially. It's sort of true, though; the exertion wouldn't bother him but the vulnerability of submission has certainly taken his toll, and he's in no rush to properly start his day. Instead he's going to force his jellied limbs to obey him long enough to climb under the covers, and then wrap himself up in Jonathan, staving off any post-orgasmic emptiness with warm solidity, the scent of sleep on Jon's neck when he tucks his nose in there and settles.

 

Peter laughs genuinely at that, ruffling Elias' hair just because he knows Elias hates it before making his escape.

 

Jon was not kidding about sleeping in, and it takes a couple more hours before he even remotely begins to stir. His entire body seems to protest the action, petitioning for More Sleep Now but he struggles to open his eyes instead. He's just conscious enough for thought, and with thought curiosity and contemplation. He takes a few moments to catalogue his aches, the sweet comfort in his limbs. He's especially pleased to feel Elias still beside him, and he forces himself to sluggishly shift and turn in the embrace to face him.

"Elias," he murmurs, voice a little raw and still full of sleep. He's not fully awake yet, more a lingering doze, but he knows he wants to see him, how he felt after everything. It was... intense, to say the least.

 

Elias rouses at the sound of his name, and as soon as he opens his eyes, there's Jon, looking wearily back at him. It's probably good that he's not wearing his glasses, because Elias' expression is embarrassingly besotted. 

He shifts, hums, curls closer into him, tucking their legs together in a tangle, the kind that isn't conducive to comfortable sleep. "'Lo," he murmurs, rubbing Jon's shoulder gently.

 

Jon smiles, still too close to sleep for his typical defensive grumpiness or the like. Being deeply sated certainly helped too, and call him the damnedest sap but waking up to Elias there, blurry or not, was lovely. Tim wasn't wrong, maybe Jon needed to get laid a few times to be bearable. Who knew.

He reaches over, sleepily tracing Elias' lips and jaw, like he was trying to read the expression with his fingertips languidly. "... how are you?" he asks when he finally starts feeling somewhat wakeful and he remembers to be concerned with how Elias reacted to dealing with his ex in an intense situation.

 

"Really good," Elias admits, almost sheepish about it. "Really, truly excellent." He's genuinely never been so happy in his life, just worn out and blissed out and in love. He kisses Jon's finger when it passes across his mouth.

"And how about _you_ ," Elias asks in return, voice quietly arch in the space between them. "Sleep well?"

 

Jon nods, relieved that it didn't open up some wound that was still bleeding. He didn't really care to see the human bits of Elias damaged in any way.

"Exhausted and sore as all hell," he answers, too amused to be as dry as he wanted. "I think, perhaps, I may have taken a few too many statements lately." Amazing deductive skills. "But yes, I slept well. I swore Peter was here when I fell asleep." Maybe he was imagining it.

 

"He was," admits Elias, reaches up to let Jon's hair, starting at the grey of his temples. "You're so handsome," he murmurs, distracted for a moment — especially so like this, sleep rumpled and well-shagged and in a good mood. But they were talking about Peter.

"We stayed up and talked a little while," says Elias. "He slept here — he _cuddled_ , of all things. And then this morning instead of going to the gym I got, ah..." he tries to find a delicate way to say this: "Willingly brutalized." If he sounds a little bemused by it then it's because he is, and he knows Jon is only going to be moreso given he hadn't been privy to so many of Peter and Elias' discussions. "So exhausted and sore is the order of the day."

 

Jon leans into the touch, typical by now but with far less reserve than he'd usually have. He's not sure how to take the compliment, even loose and content, so he just huffs but can't help the way his lips quirk. He could return the compliment fairly easily but the information Elias gives is far more interesting.

He blinks, parsing 'willingly brutalized' then raising his brow. "Well, that's certainly a change from the dynamic I'm used to. What on Earth did you talk about that had him cuddling and then that?" He missed so much and has absolutely no idea.

 

Something about that response must charm Elias, because before he answers he presses a smiling kiss against Jon's mouth, just chaste affection. "Humanity," he says, perhaps too simply. "Love." But he does at least endeavor to explain some of Peter's explanation. "We remind him of what he can't have, and he likes that, I think. The exquisite torture of loneliness, and so on." There is an audible eye roll in his voice.

Elias heaves a sigh, then, a touch dramatic, and rolls them so he has more of Jon's weight over him, looking up at him from amidst the pillows. "He's a difficult creature." Much like Elias, really, only Elias' inhumanity isn't quite so masochistic.

 

Jon makes a soft sound at the change of position, shifting only slightly and looking down at Elias with amusement. "You calling someone difficult, that's quite the proclamation," says the most difficult man alive sometimes. He considers all that, idly running his fingers through Elias' hair. It was a special sort of strange, but they were out of the realm of dealing with humans after all.

"And that's... rather depressing. I can see why the rest of his family are such a dour lot, if that's the sort of nonsense they latch themselves too," he says. "Not sure it's enough to forgive him for the ghastly business he put you through."

 

"He hurt himself as much as he hurt me," Elias says, which apparently holds value to him. Add _self-sacrifice in pursuit of zealotry_ to the list of traits he finds attractive in a man, not that anybody in this bed would know anything about that, Jonathan.

"I'd still choose you over him, if it came down to it," He curls a hand around the back of Jon's neck, feeling unusually shy about revealing so much of his feelings the way he never gets about his body. "Either way," he adds a little more brusquely, though there's still a softness where he's thumbing back and forth over the bump of a vertebrae. "He's leaving soon. And he's promised to tell his family we're not available for their ritual. So all's well that ends well."

 

Truly no one here sacrifices for their eldritch god. Jon considers all this quietly, shifting only to kiss at the corner of Elias' mouth at the admission about choosing. Those embarrassing, human feelings look good on him, sue him. 

"You already have, I imagine, by choosing this ploy over agreeing to their demands," he answers, shockingly astute for the nightmare man. "Not that it's a ploy anymore, as successful as it proved."

Probably too successful, all things considered. He's apparently awake enough for awkwardness again, which is really something given the length of his very naked body is against Elias' equally naked one. "So ah... seeing as we agreed to make the marriage legitimate, nothing... changes, does it?" It's not like he's expecting Elias to kick him out or something but he still wants to hear it.

 

"Nothing changes," agrees Elias quietly. 

Except everything has changed, left him unmoored, and he doesn't know what the consequences and repercussions of this will be. What this will mean for their work — at least the need for a ruse has pushed Jon through some of the awkward parts of telling people, but there are other considerations. At the same time, this is all he's ever wanted, to have Jon so wholly his. If there's a price for that he can surely afford it.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he asks, hand sliding around to catch Jon's face and examine him. For a man who doesn't have compulsion he has a pretty piercing gaze.

 

Jon stares back, hesitating a moment with how much he's willing to say. He was never used to being open about things, something his assistants have certainly learned the hard way, so it takes several moments before he gives in.

"I'm thinking that I'm happy," he says softly. "I'm happier than I've probably ever been very soon after easily one of the worst times of my life. And it... frightens me. To be content when everyone else- Tim, Martin, Melanie - they're all so miserable. It seems wrong, somehow. Finding something good in a horror story is typically just so that good thing can be lost and I... I'm not sure how much more I have in me to lose at this rate."

He exhales, running his hand through Elias' hair unthinkingly. "I should be suspicious of you, wonder if this is all some grand manipulation to lose what humanity I have left. Instead I'm frightened for you too. I don't want you to lose anything else."

 

Elias thumbs his cheekbone as he listens solemnly. "I feel the same way," he admits. Not so much about the assistants, who will either adapt or die and he's not concerned which particularly. But: "Happy. Terrified of that happiness. The thought of hurting you is — abhorrent, to me." 

Even just incidentally. And yet there are things he still has to keep from Jon. So that he can go on and do the work, so that he can fight the Stranger, so that he doesn't get it into his human head to raze the Institute and force Elias' hand the same way Gertrude had.

"The stakes are terribly high. Our lives are very complicated." Everything in life is complicated, to his view. Elias sees so much, so many factors, how could it not be? "But it's so simple to love you." The first time he's used that precise word for Jon, though god knows they've both been talking around it. Elias closes his eyes, admits, low: "I wish I didn't." Life would be easier if all his possessive protection was just part of the job, if this was just to keep Jon in line.

 

There's a lot he should focus on there but it's hard when Elias said love- not fond of, not cares for. They typically danced around it like that, Jon certainly did. There was something about saying love that was too strong not to be frightened of.

"... I love you too," he says, and the conversation is serious and intense enough he doesn't try to make a joke about triteness. "And I also wish I didn't. We're both rather stupid for allowing this." Incredibly so. Nothing but trouble yet here they were.

"Do you think there's any way at all this won't end disastrously?" he asks, running a thumb over Elias' eyelids carefully, mapping the shape of them, idle.

 

"No," says Elias honestly. "But it's too late, isn't it."

If this nonsense with Peter has shown him one thing it's that he wasn't truly able to cut out his feelings. And he and Jon aren't just colleagues; the only things that could possibly properly separate them are the ugly ends they're afraid of.

"You're mine," he says: The Eye's; Elias'. "Best just to enjoy that for as long as we're able."

 

"Much too late," Jon sighs, and wishes for a moment he was the sort of person who could play even remotely at hopeful optimism. He was not, and neither was Elias, and as nice as it would be it wouldn't make the inevitable end of things any easier.

"If I end up some awful monster walking the halls of the Archives for eternity I will be very cross with you," he mutters into Elias' shoulder, planting himself there and enjoying the moment, as Elias suggested. He doesn't say anything against being Elias', just as he hopes what human parts of Elias' belong to him. He's sure the Eye owns everything else- perhaps was everything else. "You're a surprisingly delightful partner but you're not _that_ lovely."

 

Elias laughs quietly, the immense weight of foreboding shattering nicely, and he curls his arms around Jon and squeezes him close just because his heart is so full.

"You're lying," he whispers in Jon's ear, both certain of it and delighted by it. "I'm exactly that lovely."

 

"You're exactly that arrogant," Jon complains, but maybe if he's going to become a damn beast he might as well get something out of it. He pulls up enough to give an unimpressed look down at Elias, but then Elias is _handsome_ and delighted and the look cracks easily.

"What were those frames you had face down of? Now that you can't go through with your threat of giving me to the Lukases and all." He's very pleased with himself.

 

Elias's eyes widen slightly. Jonathan Sims, you're a menace. "Which frames," he says innocently.

 

Of course he knows exactly which photos.

"Are you now threatening me, Jonathan?" grins Elias, not at all cowed. "I think it's a little early for that." Though like, he says that and then turns his head to shoot a quizzical look at the nightstand and the clock there — it's definitely the afternoon. "My mistake," he says, sliding his hands down Jon's back. "Threaten away, I suppose. But you probably shouldn't be taking statements, even from me."

 

"With how much you enjoy it I hardly think 'threat' is the right word," Jon points out, resting his forearms on Elias' chest so he can look down at him comfortably.

A smart man wouldn't push it when his body was still exhausted and aching from too many statements on top of the night before, maybe hold it off for a better time. The thing is this is Jon, who was completely incapable of choosing his own health over curiosity. So there's a heavy thread of compulsion when he asks pointedly, "What were on those pictures you hid?"

 

Elias' hands travel all the way down to Jon's ass and squeeze, as penance for actually using the compulsion. "You know that doesn't work on me," he says, even though he's been less and less sure lately. Just to prove it to both of them, he doesn't answer.

"How about, instead of giving me the Archivist Inquisition, you take a shower with your lovely fiancée and then have lunch. Or the other way around, maybe, if it means I get to keep you looking this disheveled for longer. Hm?"

 

Jon huffs, squirming at that squeeze though he's far more petulant about being denied answers yet again. "It's worth the try," he retorts, considering trying again just to see.

Then Elias starts negotiating, because of course he does. "Will you tell me over lunch?" he attempts some negotiation of his own, he wants to know damnit. "A shower sounds appealing though..." he admits, sighing. "Fine, you win, as usual. A shower then lunch, given the job you two did I doubt a shower will help appearances all that much anyway."

 

That makes Elias chuckle. "Tell me about it," he murmurs; they both look like a crime scene. He arcs up a little and gently kisses Jon, trying to soften the blow of non-answers. "Let's save my tragedies for a day I don't mind ruining, shall we," he says playfully — so no, probably not at lunch.

Showering does mean getting up, though, and Elias therefore untangles their legs and eases out from under Jon, wincing a little as he sits up, muscles twinging. There's water on the nightstand — and a pair of glasses, both of which he passes over. "Fluids," he instructs. "And maybe a vitamin. Subspace can lower the immune system and I don't want you getting sick."

 

The 'tragedies' bit is what does it, and he sighs. "Lord... fine. But I will remember." This isn't meant to be a threat but it basically is, Archivist style. He wants to Know.

Jon reaches for his glasses, putting them on before attempting sitting up. Yup, very sore and very tired still, but he couldn't say it wasn't worth it. "Yes, yes," he reaches for the water, glancing over to regard Elias properly. There was certainly the start of some bruising from Peter's treatment, something he catalogues carefully and with a strange mix of feelings.

"It... ah-" he starts, clearing his throat and awkward with whatever he had in mind. "Do you... want more of that? Than I've given?" He gestures at the marks, means both that and the force that was Peter. "I mean, I don't want you to be lacking anything you may want." Even though the idea of Jon being anything like Peter in that regard is laughable, let's be real. He cares enough to ask though, love and all that.

 

Elias turns on the bed, looking amused. "From you?" he teases, and despite the fact that he was just about to properly get up, he crawls over to Jon instead. "Do you really think you could bring me into line?" Because he strongly doubts it, sorry. Peter only manages it because he's not afraid to use a heavy hand.

But since he doesn't want to properly hurt Jon's feelings, he cups his jaw and kisses his cheek. "I just want you, Jonathan," he promises. "As fun as getting roughed up by a sailor with no morals _is_ , I don't — need it. And I don't need you to pretend at something you're not."

 

"I could _try_ ," Jon answers petulantly, and huffs at the kiss even if he doesn't move away. He eases somewhat, even if it's with a frown. Maybe Elias was right to be amused but he'd never, ever admit that.

"Fine, as long as you're.... enjoying yourself, as it were," he answers with a sigh.

 

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Elias promises, low. "I think we've both filled our experimental quota for a while, don't you?"

He's smirking, and he pulls away again, then pauses, taps his own shoulder over the vivid imprint of teeth; there's still a smear of blood there, though it's not actually his. "This, though. This I think I'd welcome a little more of." He winks, and finally gets up, goes to start the shower for them.

 

Jon nearly apologizes for that mark before catching himself, and no, he wasn't sure he wanted to apologize anyway. He could understand why Elias enjoyed making his own marks so much, it was... a sight. 

He drinks some of his water, dragging himself out of bed with a wince and groan before heading to the bathroom. He immediately goes over to Elias, leaning against him rather than stay on his feet completely on his own. Sue him, he's exhausted. Yes that's his own fault for taking too many statements but he refuses to acknowledge them.

 

Elias slips an arm around Jon's waist to keep him upright. "We're really going to have to do something about your tendency to overexert yourself," he muses, testing the water with a hand before deciding it's warm enough and pulling Jon into the shower with him. 

"Last night," Elias says, as he sets to work washing Jonathan, not expecting him to have the energy to do it himself (and also because it's nice to have his hands all over him, what else are joint showers for.) "Did you enjoy yourself?"

 

"Well we have something of a deadline with all this, don't we? I'm not certain we have the luxury for slow and steady," Jon answers dryly, as if he didn't compel Peter for a small statement last night out of curiosity alone. 

He certainly has the energy the run a hand over Elias' collar, wiping away the small blood stain by the bite he left. "I did. It was... intense," he admits, glancing to Elias before his eyes returned to his neck. "I wouldn't say no to doing something like it again- after recovering, of course. Not exactly an activity to be indulged in often."

He reaches up to brush at Elias' wet hair, lips quirking at the image of it. "Still not sure how I feel about Peter, though. He's a strange one, to be sure."

 

There's something gladdening about that little look, about the way Jon says he liked it. Maybe Elias was concerned that having tried it he'd lose interest in a repeat performance, or maybe he just still had some residual feelings about Peter getting there before him, but he's relieved. Or touched. Or something. Human emotions, etc.

"Quite," Elias agrees, because 'strange' doesn't even begin to cover it. "He's going to want to spend a little time with you before he ships out once more, I think. So you may have to survive through one more statement yet."

 

"What, really? I wonder why," Jon is blissfully unaware of their negotiations and also still very much believes Peter was there for Elias and Jon just happened to be part of the package deal. Not a problem, maybe even a bonus but not the focus in any way.

"Well... I suppose that's fine. I do have more questions for him, but I swear if he wants to give another full statement today you better allow me some sick leave," he says dryly. As if this man ever willingly took sick leave if he could be working. He gathers his strength to reach for the shampoo, squirting some in his palm and reaching up to massage it onto Elias' hair and scalp.

 

Oh, that's sweet. Elias tips his head forward obligingly for Jon's convenience, smiling to himself, eyes closing.

"Are you really asking me why Peter Lukas has an interest in you?" he asks, and the tone is reminiscent of that time they discussed Martin, so Jon should really see this coming. "Are you just completely oblivious to your own appeal?"

 

"You mean the interest of marrying me to his family's pet monster? Or his strange preoccupation with Archivists?" Jon answers, dry as dust, even if he's careful when washing Elias' hair. "Honestly I think he just enjoys someone who can on some level feel his isolation. Maybe that's why he's been more agreeable about compulsion than others."

 

"Oh yes of course," says Elias, trying not to laugh at him and failing. "I'm sure that's it." Though maybe Peter did want to be seen, to tell his story and have someone really understand it the way only an Archivist taking a statement could. A pleasure even Elias has now dipped into, though it isn't quite the same.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to talk it over with him — I told him he couldn't steal you away for very long, but time does tend to distort in those other spaces."

 

"Don't laugh or I'll let the shampoo get in your eyes," Jon answers in a huff, such a threat, really. He's probably full of shit though, given he's careful as he presses Elias to tilt his head the right way into the shower stream. 

And he blinks in surprise. "Wait, what?" He processes the statement before understanding. "He's taking me to this... isolated world of his? And you're sure he'll let me come back, yes?"

 

"I have some very good collateral," says Elias. "And I also have a tight grip on the bollocks of certain of his relatives, so I could retrieve you even if he tries to double cross me. Though I believe he won't." He does sort of trust Peter... just not enough to not have some plans in place for more unpleasant eventualities. Jon is too valuable to simply leave these things to chance. 

Talking is getting shampoo-laced water in his mouth, and he spits it, lets Jon finish rinsing out his hair. Runs a palm over his face to wipe the water out of his eyes, and fixes him with a look. "You'll be safe. You'll also be alone. No Beholding. I hope you don't find that too uncomfortable an experience; I always found it put me on edge."

 

"Lord, you two certainly enjoy making decisions for me," Jon grips. "Who says I want to spend quality time with him in his Isolation... dimension? What exactly is it?" Funny how curious he is about the place he's complaining about going to.

"... Fine, I doubt I have much of a say in it now anyway. As long as it's tomorrow, thank you. I'd like at least one day to recover."

 

"Honestly, I'm not even sure he's still here," says Elias; he had made Peter promise to leave them in peace after the threesome. "But you're right, you deserve the day off." He kisses Jon then, wet from the shower, loops arms over his shoulders and draws back, blinking the water from his lashes. "Just you and me for a bit. Everything else can wait."

 

It reminds him of their kiss in the rain, and it's such an incredibly silly (trite) thing to be reminded of Jon chuckles against Elias' lips. "When I inevitably take a statement tomorrow and end up dead on my feet I'm blaming you." His tone is still too laced with amusement for that to have much weight, and he leans he forehead against Elias' shoulder a moment, just enjoying the head of the water spraying down. He feels he could almost doze off again like this, which would be very ill advised, so he lifts his head and rests his hands on Elias' chest.

"Come on, before we prune," he says, reaching to grab Elias' wrist as he headed out of the shower.

 

They are definitely getting far too comfortable, so Elias doesn't at all protest the interruption of their relaxation under the warm water, just turns the taps off. There are fluffy towels, but when Elias attempts to alternate between drying Jon and himself he mostly keeps on just touching, fingers spreading wetness over heat flushed skin. So it's a while before they could reasonably be called dry. 

He flicks one of the marks he personally inflicted on one of Jon's hipbones. "Just look at you," he laughs, and then turns Jon towards the bathroom mirror bodily so he can do exactly that, pressing in behind him and smirking. "We really made a mess of you, didn't we."

 

Jon huffs but does, and he can't exactly deny what Elias was saying. He never thought he'd see himself with a neck covered in marks, lips still tender, exhausted but peaceful with it. He never thought he'd see Elias in a similar state, pressed up behind him.

He flushes because of course he does, trying to glance at Elias rather than the mirror. "I'm going to have to invest in higher necked items at this rate. You have something of a fixation with marks," he's dry but not really complaining. From the mirror he can see the one he left on Elias, somewhat accidental but- "... I suppose I can see the appeal."

 

"I'm fond of the noises you make when receiving them," Elias says. No possessive desire to let the world know who Jon belongs to here, no sir. Anyway, he kisses one of them, on Jon's neck, and lets him go. 

Elias dresses for breakfast — well, lunch, by now, yes — and goes out to see if Peter is actually still in his flat.

Jon does the same, pressing a parting kiss to Elias' lips before heading to go make something for them for lunch. He has not quite gotten used to the 'we can ask the mysterious house keepers we never see for that sort of thing' that comes with being rich as shit. 

Peter is still there, and he has put on some boxers at least. He's playing on his phone even as he hums along to what is clearly Nathaniel droning on from the laptop next to him. Who uses their phones for calls anymore when you can play shit ass games on them? Not Peter Lukas.

When he notices Elias come in he goes, "Yeah, great Nate, got it. I'll call later, etc," and ends the call without waiting. "You're welcome, by the way. Could have passed him on to you and spared myself explaining all this anymore." He glances back to his phone. "You know Candy Crush helps depression, yeah? The world's wild these days."

 

Boxers: almost decent! Elias looks somewhere between unimpressed and bemused at the whole spectacle of a person that is Peter, but he comes and sits down with him.

"Are you really playing Candy Crush?" Somehow sounding dubious even though he can clearly see that Peter is. Truly, bad mobile games are the province of loneliness. But he's only pretending to care, trying to sidle the conversation around to asking when he's leaving without giving the impression of kicking him out.

 

"Are you really coming in here just to ask me something like that?" Peter answers cheekily, showing him the screen regardless. "Like you haven't known everything on my phone and computer through nefarious, nosy means for years now. Anyway, Nate's annoyed but he didn't make much of a fuss. He'll probably call tonight once he's properly plotted and all."

He stretches and sits up. "So, what is it? Or are you so bereft without me you're here for round two?"

 

Elias gives him a judgemental look at that. "No, you oversexed degenerate," he says mildly, knocking a socked foot against Peter's bare leg. "I wanted to tell you Jon's agreed to go on your ~tour~ tomorrow. I'm afraid I'm going to keep him to myself for today," because Peter has worn them both out. "Would you like lunch?"

 

"If I recall you were the one begging," Peter informs him because he is definitely a degenerate. "Lovely, not that I'm surprised he agreed by any means. Curiosity and the cat, you know. So, am I allowed to try to tempt him on our tour or will you be going possessive and greedy again?"

And he considers that offer a moment. "Sure, could use a bite."

 

Elias gets up again, to go and tell Jon that whatever he's making it needs to be enough for three. There's something stroppy about the movement though. "I won't be there, so I'm sure you'll do whatever you like," he says politely. "Just remember your promises." And Elias' very clear threats.

 

"Mm, possessive and greedy but refusing to say as much? I can work with that," Peter tells him, so deeply amused by all of this as he gets up to actually get dressed. Impressive he's bothering, praise him for that.


	7. a date.

In the kitchen Jon's working on some sort of chicken and vegetable thing because it's well documented I don't know what the fuck British people eat. He glances over when Elias informs him of this, nods and yawns before he answers. "Thought he might. He's clearly too much of a meddler not to come poke about after a whole morning of peace."

 

Something about this morning has Elias still feeling very much at ease, enough so that he doesn't feel the need to start daydrinking just to cope with his obnoxious house guest

"You're cooking," Elias notes, surprised by the fact; normally groceries just magically turn into fridged or frozen complete meals for him, so seeing somebody use his kitchen is a novelty. He doesn't offer to help, just gets himself a glass of water, gets one for Jon too. "Fluids," he says as a reminder, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Jon's neck where his hair is still a little damp. "And don't worry too much about Peter Lukas.

Who he looks over when Peter emerges and joins him at the table they're going to eat at, and he does remark: "Ah, you still have clean clothes after all. I thought perhaps you were planning to head home in your drawers." Very complimentary, that.

 

Finally a day that doesn't start with Irish coffee. Jon gives Elias a quirked brow. "Yes, typically when you want lunch you need to make said meal," he answers dryly. He rolls his eyes but heads to fridge, pulling out too water bottles and handing one over to Elias, leaning in for a kiss as he does so.

Of course that's when Peter comes out. "Aw, so domestic. You two are a picture," he says, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. "I could take my shirt off if you miss the view so much, Elias. I wouldn't want to distract the Archivist from his task though."

"I can still decide to decline your little 'tour,'" Jon informs him stuffily, turning back to the stove as Peter laughs.

"It's cute you think your curiosity wouldn't win out."

 

"Settle," Elias says mildly, meaning Peter, obviously, but also sort of meaning both of them. He's no longer worried about an employee upsetting a source of Institute funding, though, and now more concerned about keeping the peace for another twenty-four hours.

At least eating doesn't have to be combative. The food is simple but good, and afterwards he convinces Jon to come for a walk in the park with him ("You do get him tomorrow," he reminds Peter like they're divorced parents, kisses him on the cheek so he doesn't feel left out of all this disgusting domesticity.)

He holds Jon's hand, keeps the walk to a slow and unchallenging amble, and stops at the duck pond again. "Shall I tell you a secret?" he asks Jon, knowing that the answer will never be no.

 

This does not stop the sniping, or maybe it'd be more on point to say it doesn't stop _Jon's_ sniping and Peter gleefully riling him up. Still, it's civil enough all things considered, given the group in question, and when Elias pulls Jon away Peter merely waves a hand (and accepts the disgustingly domestic kiss with a deeply contemplative look.)

Jon's clearly glad to be out, not so much uncomfortable in Peter's company as he is more comfortable in Elias' alone. He loses the habitual tension in his shoulders, regarding the area a touch fondly, even the large, muddy puddles from the day before.

"You must want something if you're offering it for free," Jon turns to him, amused and yes, the answer is certainly not no.

 

"To make you smile," says Elias, which is shockingly romantic for how placidly he says it, looking out at the water but then glancing back to see if he's managed an early success.

He turns towards Jon, leans in like he's going to whisper it in Jon's ear, though he doesn't get that close. "All right. Here it is. My dreadful secret. Are you ready?" His mouth crooks. "I don't actually know how to make stew. Or cook anything that isn't a hot beverage."

 

"Lord, how sentimental can you get?" Spoilers, he's smiling.

Jon's half expecting some tidbit of his life before, maybe a teasing hint at the pictures or more solemn information about Peter. The actual admission makes him laugh despite himself. "Ah, you're telling me a man who had a nanny and a silver spoon never learned how to cook for himself? I assume you ordered that beef stew or got housekeeping to make it." He considers Elias for a moment, lips still quirked crookedly. Been smiling too damn much lately for a horror story protagonist. "I could teach you, if you'd like. On the off chance you have to fend for yourself one day and get sick of cheese sandwiches."

 

"Yes, I called housekeeping." Jon is unsurprised but he's also laughing, so Elias thinks it was a pretty good secret. And keeping it wasn't going to be sustainable — nor, he thinks, should something so inconsequential be a secret. They have enough necessary unknowns between them already.

He leans into Jon, goes back to watching the ducks even though he's really very fond of just looking at Jon's smile. "All right," he agrees. "Maybe in return I can teach you how to dress."

 

"I know how to _dress_ ," Jon retorts, and the only man scruffier than him right now is Will off accidentally eating people in America. "You just have expensive standards. Besides, I am not buying anything I'm not willing to have bled on or torn given the way things have been lately."

He takes Elias' hand, examining it rather than the lake and the ducks and all that good nature."Tell me a good memory you have, if you won't tell me about picture frames or old castles."

 

Elias gives him an amused look about something he said regarding clothes, or maybe all of it. The idea that Jon would have to pay for it. The idea that Elias shopped at stores instead of having things tailored or tailor made. "Not even helping you put together one nice outfit?" he asks, very slightly entreating. "Blood comes out, after all." He still has the suit he beat Leitner to death in, because his dry cleaners are very good.

"Besides," he adds idly. "You'll need something nice to marry me in." Which he's planning on holding as his very best memory, by the way. He doesn't have many good ones that aren't also tinged with something darker. His childhood is too complicated, his time at the Archives too monstrous.

 

Do not let Jon know you have the Leitner death suit, Elias. Would not approve. "You're cheating," he accuses, though his lips are threatening to quirk. Of course Elias would say something sweet like that and immediately crush all of Jon's arguments and avoid his question. Conniving bastard.

"Fine, one formal outfit is fair, I suppose. Especially given we're living together now and you have pompous company on occasion," he considers the lines of Elias' knuckles, turns his hand over to look at his palm. He vaguely wonders about nonsense like lifelines and immediately banishes the thought. It was rubbish and if it wasn't he was sure he didn't want to know. "... and for the wedding. Lord, I'm still not sure how things ended up this way."

 

Elias is cheating, it's true. He knows it — but he gets his way because of it, so why would he stop? He just wants to play dress up with Jon ok.

"It doesn't have to be anything excessive," reassures Elias, watching Jon looking at his hand, and then bringing his other one over so Jon's is caught between two of his. "Nice clothes, plain rings, a lot of signing paperwork, those are the important bits." Looking at Jon's face now, trying to read it. "Guest list, vows, reception, I won't mind if you want to skip all that."

 

"Is there anyone you'd want to invite to this?" Jon asks, of course curious if Elias had anyone important enough in his life for something like that. He didn't think so, at least Elias gave the impression he didn't have close ties with anyone really. 

Jon, on the otherhand, had no living family and everyone he knew was wary of or hated Elias. Made things rather awkward. "I think I'll skip inviting anyone myself, given the assistants aren't great fans of yours and Georgie would likely cause trouble. But... going out after would be acceptable. Just the two of us."

 

"There's not," says Elias, confirming Jon's suspicions. He doesn't look abashed by it; really it works out quite conveniently. "An elopement, then. But I hope you're going to let me take you out before then. I do still feel like we're doing this all out of order, but I'd like to have at least one real date." Of course, they've been busy with Peter. "Tonight if you think you can manage it."

 

"Yes, I think my grandmother would roll over in her grave if I got married without a single date," Jon answers dryly, as though they didn't have a fucking kinky threesome before any of that and just general aggressive sex before even admitting they liked each other. "It can't be anywhere too fancy, I don't really have the clothes for that. But otherwise... yes, Elias, I'll go on a date with you tonight."

 

"Good," says Elias like that's normal and expected and not embarrassingly pleasing. He squeezes Jon's hand though. "I've got some ideas in mind." That's not untrue but it is deliberately vague, just to tease. 

He lifts Jon's hand and kisses it, a mirror of the affectionate gesture he'd performed on the bridge not two days hence. "But for now... you wanted a happy memory. One that doesn't involve you, I presume, which makes for slim pickings."

 

"Which you won't tell me, I imagine, because you do love your secrets," Jon sounds fond despite the dryness. At least these secrets were pleasant and not life or death. He'd take what he could get.

He flushes slightly at the gesture, the casual affection still occasionally striking and novel enough for the reaction. "That's... sweet and depressing at the same time. But yes, if possible. It doesn't have to be exciting, you know."

 

"You love my secrets," Elias corrects him, a little knowingly. But he's still got Jon's hand, one shoulder leaning against the back of the bench as he plays idly with his fingers.

"But all right. Hm. Just after I finished my A-levels I spent the holidays in Paris, which was my first time in the city for any real length of time, and without parental supervision. I had a boarding school friend, Roger, who I'd brought with me as one last hurrah because he hadn't managed to get into Oxford. I was terribly sorry to be parting from him — in retrospect I had a bit of a crush, though nothing came of it. 

"We mostly drank and made fools of ourselves at the famous monuments. Met an old artist at the _Arc de Triomphe_ who asked us to come and pose for her, so we did. Roger was a bit shy about it but I never have been. Mm, he also met a girl at a club, and I liked to see him happy so I'd take them both out to dinners they couldn't afford — which sounds bittersweet but she was very nice and I had a good time."

 

"Well, yes... but it's rather more I love knowing those pieces of you than anything," Jon considers, because being accidentally romantic is a forte. He listens, tries to listen as Jon and not the Archivist, as Elias plays with his hand. It's not too difficult, this wasn't the sort of information the Beholding craved deeply, he imagined. Jon did though, he found his lips quirking in fondness.

"So posh," he muses. "I'd love to see the art that woman ended up with, it's somewhat easy to imagine you as a cocky, drunk young man." The idea of Elias so young, foolish and vibrant was an unfortunately strange one otherwise. He found the more he learned about him as a young man the more staggering a difference it was. "Did you keep in touch with him in Oxford?"

 

"Roger? No," Elias admits. "He didn't live in London, and I was never very good at remembering letters or calls. Too busy cultivating a thriving first year social life with — well, people I felt were more likely to be useful. I was terribly ambitious." Now _that_ probably isn't a surprise.

 

"Yes, that sounds like you," Jon says dryly. Mr. Sees Everything magic boss being ambitious, shock of shocks. "What were you initially planning on, with all your ambitious plans? Politics?"

Elias as a politician is also something he could quite easily see, lord save them all. He wonders what Elias would have been like at this point in his life if he hadn't signed up with an eldritch being and the memories of a long line of people. Probably no less smug.

 

"Yes, I was aiming for cabinet minister," say Elias. "Rather made things difficult for myself by doing so poorly in school." A shrug: things are what they are, and it's not like he hasn't ended up quite successful after all, albeit in a different direction than he imagined.

 

"I'm surprised you did so poorly, it's hardly like you're unintelligent," Jon muses, a compliment sort of? He taps his fingers against Elias' hand idly. "Was it just the ah... recreational substances that kept you distracted?" You fucking stoner.

 

"The recreational substances," Elias echoes, charmed. "Yes. I smoked a lot of weed and I missed a lot of classes. And I didn't have a mental connection to an ineffable amount of information, which probably does a lot for your perception of my acuity." Also he uses words like acuity now. 

"Come on," he says, growing a little restless, "Let's walk some more." Slowly, though, an easy turn around the pond while they keep talking, Elias with one hand in his own pocket and the other slipped around Jon's waist.

 

"Hearing you so casually say 'I smoked a lot of weed' is... something to say the least." Amazing is the word you're looking for, Jon. He keeps lightly pressed to Elias side as they begin walking again, clearly enjoying the new information as he processed it. Even before he knew Elias was a 'cult leader' as Georgie liked to put it the whole college adventure saga of Elias' was delightful in it's own way.

"This is alarmingly _normal_ , isn't it?" he considers after a beat of watching some people walk a dog in the distance, the sound of a family scuttling past somewhere behind them. "I honestly used to think couples taking walks in the park was the work of fiction."

 

"You deserve a little normalcy in your life, Archivist," Elias says, title for emphasis. Their lives, their whole relationship, was anything but normal. It's nice to just have something that is simple, enjoyable, unexciting. "I find it makes bering the horrors easier. And it's good for you to be out from behind a desk."

 

"So you're saying before our little adventure with the Lukases you took walks in the park?" Jon asks, brow raised before he has to somewhat reluctantly agree with that. "I suppose you have a point. In all honesty I haven't felt safe enough for something like this since Prentiss."

 

"Of course," says Elias, like that should be obvious and expected. "Though I'd probably jog. I do often walk to work though." Because he can afford to live stupidly close to Chelsea.

Anyway. "There isn't much I wouldn't do to keep you safe, Jonathan," Elias says without looking at him. "Though you do also tend to see danger where there isn't any. Understandable, given what you know exists in the world, how little you know of yourself."

 

"Really?" Jon sometimes forgets people have actual lives outside of work, especially when your job is know everything. "Lord, you jog in the park, walk to work and work out each morning." He sounds bemused and exasperated at the same time. "You're ridiculous."

That makes his heart tighten, a pleasant thrum though he isn't sure he'll ever believe Elias could keep them both alive to the end in all this. It was asking too much. "I'm aware, I wouldn't be strolling through the park if I didn't feel safe doing so," he admits softly. "I'm not sure you're right about that though. There's always a chance of danger, and it's better to be prepared. The last thing I want is to let my guard down and end up flayed by some beast. I don't- before I didn't want anyone else to be saddled with this job. Now I have you to think about as well, don't I?"

 

Hey, Elias is nearly two decades older than Jonathan, exercise is important.

"No," responds Elias crisply. "You do not. I am one of the monsters you take statements about, darling. I maintain a policy of non-intervention, as a rule, because the Eye prefers it — and that includes letting my staff be terrorized by worms, or letting you trade mutilation for information." He means Jon's hand, of course.

"Everybody who works at the Institute has a role to play in recording paranormal experiences, from your work with statements to those who experiment with our Artifacts. Except me. My job is simply to ensure that the Institute continues to function. That means securing funding, maintaining our building overseeing employees, all the usual paperwork of choosing to run on the scale we do. The moving parts of the business machine. But also to eliminate any external threats to that process."

Or internal threats, in one particular case.

"And of all the moving parts, the Archivist is the most important. So you are one of the very few people in London for whom a terrible fate is not lurking around every corner. The price, of course, is that you're one of the monsters too."

Don't you just love it when your fiancée villain monologues, Jon.

 

Ah, there he goes. Jon listens, wonders at the mix of unease and god damn comfort Elias' proclamations give him. It was confusing, as is tended to be with Elias he was coming to find. He exhales and pulls away enough to step in front of Elias, regard him with a hand still on his waist.

"There's something I've been wondering for a while, why did you make me the Archivist? You said a lot about choices that led there but was it the Eye who wanted it or was it your decision with the knowledge the eye gave you?" He's not sure he expects an answer to that, Elias did love his dodging, but he does decide to actually answer Elias' statement after with a soft sigh.

"Feeling safe is dangerous, Elias. I... know you'll protect me if need be, and you're very good at it, but-" He pauses for a long moment before continuing, "Did you ever feel truly safe again after Mont-Saint-Michel?"

 

"Not until I became Head of the Magnus Institute," Elias acknowledges. It's a kind of godhood, after all, and had changed his perspective somewhat. Even then he'd sort of had to grow into it; that's also why he's so tolerant of Jon doing the same.

"As for why I chose you," Elias says, considering him. "We have something of an alliance with the Web, you know, out of a mutual appreciation for patience. So we knew that you'd spent your whole life demanding answers from the world, demanding to know what was behind the curtain, and we decided to show you. When we hired you in the first place it was because we felt you might make a suitable archivist and we knew Gertrude might force our hand." A small smile, despite the subject matter. "Also, I quite liked you, Jon. That was a factor."

 

"I can't say I've had the same feeling of security becoming the Archivist," Jon says, an admittance even if he tried for dry. "Hell, I'm afraid of what happens when I stop being afraid." He thinks of Georgie and the strange mix of horror, sympathy and slight jealousy when he learned that she couldn't feel fear. He then pushes that thought aside.

"The Web wanted to _eat_ me and nearly succeeded," Jon points out, but Elias did actually answer his question and is somewhat surprised at that fact and the answer itself. It was always strange yet natural when Elias said 'we' like that. Jon didn't like to consider it deeply. "I... I actually remember you from when I was student, you know. I was using the library at the Institute for a paper, scoping things out I suppose. I saw you talking to some people, researchers probably."

His lips quirk slightly despite himself. "I thought you looked important and stuffy."

 

"Well," Elias says cheerfully, "You were half right, at any rate." And then he's just going to pull Jon a little closer and kiss him, fond. They do a lot of kissing in this park.

He cups Jon's face, thumbs over his cheek even though he's pulled back. "Some fear is reasonable. You know I can't promise you a happy ending. And there are plenty of people, Peter Lukas and the Lightless Flame included, who like to push the limits of what I'll let them get away with."

 

Lots of trite park kissing, but it did wonders for distracting him and putting him a little more at ease. Jon makes the slightest sound of protest, like he had more to say to that, but melts into the kiss too quickly for it to mean anything, settled. 

He licks his lips, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of Elias' hands. "I'm rather more worried about Nikola Orsinov, which is saying something given the living nightmare that is Jude Perry," he answers after a beat, opening his eyes again with a more serious look. "Then there's Daisy, for you at least. You'll probably laugh at me for that but... somehow I feel if anyone could find a way to kill you it'd be her."

 

"I have Basira," points out Elias. "And quite a bit of dirt on Daisy herself. I have certainly done my due diligence there. But I do agree that she's a wild card." He's still stroking Jon's face, and his tone shades with something difficult to pass, maybe melancholy, or the possibility of it: "There was a moment, with the knife to your throat, that I thought I really was going to lose you. The odds were about 50-50. I don't intend to let them get that low again."

He won't talk about Orsinov, though. Everything even remotely related to the Stranger is off limits in their casual conversations — he's still carefully constructing Jon's Rube Goldberg machine of an investigation and he'd rather not risk mucking his own plans up.

 

There's a lot to unpack there, and he settles for huffing something humourless. "So keeping Basira safe and well is an excellent idea," he says a touch pointedly. He liked Basira quite a bit, thanks, and shockingly wasn't overly fond of her being held hostage. "She is the reason there was even a 50/50 chance there. A few seconds later and Daisy would have been gleefully pulling out my vocal chords."

He swallows at that, vaguely jokingly or not Daisy was terrifying. "Well... despite your methods I am glad Daisy is on our side now- somewhat on our side at least. She certainly knows how to... interrogate troublesome subjects."

 

"Somewhat." Elias thumbs Jon's mouth, then drops his hand, returns them to walking. He considers asking Jon to do more to convince Basira and Daisy to the rightness of their cause, but imagines she'd just think him brainwashed.

"You are quite attached to your assistants, aren't you," he muses as they walk, though he's turned them towards the bridge now, along the path that leads them home. "It's sweet. Gertrude almost never was — she lost one very early and I think after that tried not to know much more than their names. But Sasha didn't have that effect on you."

 

"Somewhat indeed. I don't think she'd instantly murder me the second she got the chance anymore but you are another matter." Frankly he wasn't even that sure about her not killing him. He'd like to believe it but he had the feeling that was only if Basira was still alive.

Jon frowns at that even if he takes the new information on Gertrude rather greedily. He hesitates a moment with honesty, when it was so much easier to be biting and dismissive. It wins out somehow. "It's not that I haven't been trying to at least keep a distance, for their sakes more than anything. They don't deserve to be fodder and I- well, I already failed Sasha rather spectacularly. I know there wasn't much to be done there, of course." Not that he believes that, but he could pretend.

He clears his throat, grasping Elias' hand as naturally as he can manage. "I've heard on several occasions I'm lacking when it comes to comparisons with Gertrude. I'm not sure this is one I mind, they really do simply... deserve better than they've been given."

 

"We do try to pick people who have nothing else in their lives," Elias says. "No distractions, no-one to mourn them, no better future. They work for us, and they have a purpose, and a chance to learn what very few people in this world do — and a good salary, of course." He squeezes Jon's hand. "If they can endure the risk, there's a lot of reward. And if they can't, well, that's a story that interests the Eye too."

The fact that Jonathan refuses to acknowledge that they're cannon fodder he also finds sweet. Elias is too far gone into an alien mindset to really manage that degree of empathy for them — Jonathan has earned it, but Jonathan is his Archivist.

"That said, there's been so much going on that I have been unfortunately neglectful of that aspect of management, as have you." Partially due to that pulling away; not wanting to be friendly with them, to grow attached, is one thing but not treating them as part of the team is demoralizing. It's why Elias made a point of bringing them all in on the truth of his murders. "I think once we've interrupted the Unknowning I'll be able to spare some time, so if you manage to keep them all alive until then perhaps we can increase their job satisfaction. Timothy in particular."

 

"Except we learn to mourn each other," Jon answers, and he doesn't know how to feel about what Elias said. On one hand it's monstrous, it implies a choice that wasn't there, an expendability and the idea that anyone had the right to decide they had no 'better future.' On the other hand he can't deny that this was far, far gentler than other domains from what he's seen so far. They didn't have to kill (yet, Elias did to some extent and Jon dearly hoped he wouldn't be following Elias down that path) and they didn't have to offer their flesh or lives to some half existence of wax or puppetry. They weren't hives for worms or nests for spiders. They could go home, have something of a life outside of this.

"That... expendability is half of why they don't need to sacrifice more for the Eye, isn't it? You and I have to give up our humanity or- ha, pay for statements," his lips twist as his burn scars press into Elias' palm. He returns the tight grip. "But they do not. We have some degree of increased worth and thus increased protection when pressed, but they do not. Sasha certainly didn't, and neither did Gertrude's assistants by the sound of it."

He sighs, shaking his head. "Sorry just... thinking out loud. I'll do what I can to keep them alive at least. Georgie wants me to talk to them, you know. Tell them what's happening fully, keep in contact." He glances over, probing. "Showing them the humanity you occasionally show me would go a long way, Elias."

 

"Yes," says Elias to Jon's speculation. "Of course, that can change. We were both also very expendable once, Jon." For about the same very short length of time; the Eye recognizes who will flourish if offered the chance to have, to become, more.

Anyway. The idea that Elias should show some humanity doesn't seem to hit its mark, even though Elias does glance back, brows lifted slightly. "Are you suggesting I should sleep with the assistants, Jonathan? Seems a little unethical when they can't leave." A moment's pause but then he grins — he's kidding. 

"They're yours before they're mine, Archivist. If you think they'll feel better about the work if they know as much as you do, then I agree with Georgina."

 

"That is not the humanity I was thinking of," Jon says sourly, clearing his throat because some things never change. "I'm serious, Elias, you should consider it. And not just for them- it isn't as though the human part of Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, doesn't have worth." If you wanted any proof Jon earnestly believed in there being good to Elias there you have it. Or at least something beyond the plans, information and sight.

"I... don't know. I suppose they will, I know I would," he answers stubbornly, glancing up to notice their building swiftly approaching and slowing down slightly for no other reason than he wanted Elias to himself for a little while longer. "I still don't like the idea of getting them more involved than they already are, and knowing Martin at the very least he'll insist on it. Basira and Melanie probably won't be far behind."

 

Elias slows with him. "Don't underestimate Martin's resilience," Elias says. "Or his hunger. If an unfortunate accident befell me tomorrow I think he'd be a prime candidate for my position." Which he actually hates the idea of personally, but he also doesn't exactly get a say. It's hard being part eldritch entity.

"But I meant it when I said I'm leaving it in your hands. My non-interference policy tends to extend internally as well, but I do think that your team cohesion would be improved if you told them everything." And maybe they'd stop plotting to kill him.

 

"I- Martin, really?" Jon sounds incredulous but quickly tries to explain. "It's not as though I think he's incapable, he's certainly come into his own since Prentiss, just... I can't imagine him agreeing to take your place willingly." He does think, however, that he could easily see Martin doing so to save the lot of them. The idea makes him frown and feel exceptionally uncomfortable for a great many reasons.

"I'll let Georgie know you somewhat agree, I'm sure she'll just love to hear that," Jon says dryly, sighing as they made it to the door. He stops though, regarding Elias a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you, that was... nice. The fresh air and company."

 

Elias isn't sure he can see it either; but candidacy for the offer doesn't always mean acceptance. "It's more like he'd make the interview stage," he murmurs, like he thinks he's being funny. But he also doesn't want to talk any further about Martin.

Especially not when Jon gives him sweet little kisses like that. Elias responds with a slightly longer kiss that probably is a higher level of PDA than is appropriate. 

"I'm glad," Elias says, smiling genuinely, "You're welcome. Feel free to make use of my study or the downstairs library if you'd like to dodge Peter a little longer. But remember, I am taking you to dinner." Which he's going to need to organize, once they've taken the lift and they're back upstairs again. And he's going to need to organize it subtly enough that Peter won't just i it himself.

 

"Lord, this place has a library? Of course it does," Jon wonders what it says about him that he's fucked in the building's hot tub before finding that out. Wonderful.

He does come up with him despite being curious about the library. He still doesn't particularly like the idea of leaving Elias completely to Peter's stressful mercies, even if they seemed to have worked it out and Elias could certainly handle himself regardless. He ends up reading a book rather than working, strangely enough, finding one while glancing over Elias' shelves that actually caught his attention and kept it when he investigated. 

(Peter, for what it's worth, is less of a menace than he could be. Besides bothering Elias a little he keeps to himself, maybe respecting Elias' wish for alone time. Maybe plotting. Maybe it was a weird isolation thing. Either way, it meant less of a headache for most involved.)

 

It's nearing dinner time when Jon pulls himself from reading, hurrying to find Elias after marking his place and looking slightly harried. "Sorry, I lost track of time- is what I'm wearing all right for this?" Does he actual have slight jitters for a fucking date after nearly forgetting it because he got caught up in a book? Yeah. Also the outfit is his typical wear, meaning inoffensive, probably largely dull and probably slightly rumpled because he didn't know how not to be a mess sometimes.

 

Elias looks him over, which is enjoyable enough that he spends more time on it than he needs to. "Yes," he decides, though the continuing urge to dress Jon up is still very present. But he hasn't even dressed himself up, still in the clothes he walked through the park in.

"I'm taking Jon out," he tells Peter — probably this would be more surprising if Peter wasn't aware how short a time the two of them had been together. Not that Elias has any first date jitters particularly; he's quite relaxed in the lift down to the parking garage. Strikes up a conversation about the book, since he's already read it.

He doesn't actually tell Jon where they're going until they get there (it's the little things). But it's a nice tapas bar in Marleybone, table for two, neither stunningly posh or drippingly romantic.

 

Peter chuckles in a way Jon wonders at, like he's knowingly amused at the fact it's their first date. Jon decides not to dwell on it and dwells on it for a little while anyway, up until they were out of the building and he began focusing again on where exactly they were going.

Which he does badger Elias about a little, because even if he did enjoy the occasionally surprise it was his nature to be a nosy shit about everything. The book conversation thankfully cuts most of that off, and makes him forget to be nervous about a first date with his boss who he's already slept with and agreed to marry. Lord.

When they get there he lets out an amused breath as he sits. "Well, not black tie but still fancier than I can say I'm used to." It was a good middle ground, and frankly he's thankful they weren't at a place that had a dress code and expectations, not for this. He was low grade nervous enough and already busy berating himself for it. "Is this one of the places you'd go to pull stories out of people?" he asks, amused at the mental image of it.

 

"No," admits Elias. "I have a selection of _table pour deux_ reserved at some very romantic restaurants, but I didn't want to give you a heart attack over food prices on the first date." He knows what Jon is like. Those restaurants are all money and spectacle, full service and stunning views.This place is just— well. "This is my favourite food in London," he admits quietly, browsing through his menu. "Aside from your omelet, obviously."

Jon is saved from having to respond to that by the waiter coming to introduce herself, announce the specials, and take their drink orders. Elias orders a bottle of wine and a bottle of water.

 

"Yes, you'll probably save heart attacks for the second," Jon says dryly, then immediately flushes at Elias saying such a sweet thing. God damnit. When the waiter comes over he mostly defers to Elias with a faintly amused 'This _is_ your favourite place,' and doesn't bother hiding the fact he's pleased that's where Elias decided to go. Sue him, he likes things like this, personal tidbits that fill in a bigger picture he was still figuring out.

He doesn't know nearly enough about wine to properly understand the menu anyway. "Actually you'll have to save heart attacks for the third. The second should be my turn to take you out, yes?" He muses as he regards the menu, curious to what such a not-picky eater like Elias would choose as his favourite dish. "From what I understand kissing is typically saved for the third." Lmfao.

 

Elias is barely looking at the menu: "Just pick about six plates that interest you and we'll share," he says amiably. "The mussels are very good." So that answers which is his favourite, then.

All this talk of second and third dates makes Elias chuckle, eyes bright as he looks at Jon across the table. "I'd love for you to take me out," he says, leaning his chin on one hand. "But remind me, since it's been a while; which date is it where I tie you up and use your mouth?"

 

"Very well- I'd say don't complain but you've proven rather impossible to disappoint when it comes to food," Jon muses, and when the waiter comes by again he does just that. The mussels first, of course, and calamari because fuck you Amber. The rest he picks a wide spread of, clearly curious to try from the variety.

And, shock of all shocks, Elias' comment immediately flusters him. "The one where we don't say such things in _public_ , thank you," he answers. Not that he's saying no. "I should have known not to bring up kissing to you. Give and inch and such."

 

Elias just smiles at him like Jon is the best thing that's ever happened to him. "You're welcome to give me a great deal more than an inch," he says mildly, though honestly he's just going it now because it's fun to embarrass Jon in public a little. Their table is away from the other diners, in a corner by a window, so there's no real chance of being overheard — not that Elias cares either way.

"But really, I think at this point we've done everything completely out of order. But I still like to spend time with you. Just us." No intrusions of work, he means. Also he wants to spoil Jon terribly, and probably for much the same reason as he enjoys flirting with him in public.

 

"Lord you can't say things of such a nature then smile at me like that," Jon complains, torn between typical repressed nonsense and a warmth at that look. It was fairly typical for Elias to confuse him like that so he takes it with surprising stride.

"As do I. It's... well, it's a bright spot," he answers, calming down from his fluster to a more 'oh god I'm showing feelings' one. "Honestly Elias, I really was starting to think the world was all blood and horror. I ah... thank you, for showing me I was wrong."

 

Oh no, now Elias is having a feeling. (Yes, just one.)

"You're welcome, I suppose." he says softly. Probably he shouldn't thank Jonathan for bearing with his weird intensity after so short a time together, so he keeps that to himself, but he is quite grateful for it. "I just like having someone to share my life with." All parts of it, from Beholding on down.

 

Jon sits back, smiling slightly despite himself. This was already a better first date than his usual fare and he's both glad and not sure how to feel about it. "It is rather nice, isn't it? Even in with roommates in University and growing up it never exactly felt like sharing a life so much as occasionally sharing a space. I always assumed a partnership would be rather stifling."

He takes a sip of his wine, and while he's not barbaric about it there's that commoner again- no taking a moment to smell it, no proper savouring. Poor people, man.

 

Maybe feel good, Jon, given you've already agreed to marry the man.

"I should hope I'm not stifling you," Elias says, watching Jon drink his wine without so much batting an eyelid. He certainly doesn't comment. Just makes a mental note to do a little wine tasting with him, teach him how to truly enjoy the flavors. Maybe there can be a blindfold.

"Have you dated much?" asks Elias, suddenly curious. They've talked a little about Jon's first love but there's a lot he doesn't know here. "Anything serious?"

 

"Not typically, no. At least not outside of work," Jon muses. Yes, he's always going to be a salty bitch about not getting answers, Elias, thank you. Also possibly complaining about being told not to go in on weekends and such. Elias, the true monster of the workplace there.

"Oh, no, not at all. The only remotely serious relationships I had were my first and Georgie. Besides some well meaning friends trying to set me up in University a few times it wasn't really something I put much focus or time on," he answers, placing his glass down but tapping the stem thoughtfully. "I think I've mentioned it before, I always found dating to be emotionally draining. It was such a performance, at least it felt that way. How much you're supposed to talk about yourself, how many questions you're allowed, which date it's proper to do this or that- dreadful. I'll gladly take doing things out of order if it goes as easily as this."

 

"I've never been particularly fond of pointless tradition and social ritual," Elias agrees. "Good at it, perhaps, since it goes hand in hand with privilege, but I like this better." He likes Jon better. His taste in general runs to men who don't really give a fuck what other people think.

"Speaking of doing things out of order," Elias says. "Would you like to move your things in? It's not as though I don't have the room. Or I can come and live with you if you prefer it." A quirk of amusement, like he knows he'd probably seem out of place in Jon's flat, but he does mean the offer genuinely.

 

"It's- well, stifling," Jon says with a huff of amusement. "You know my first boyfriend and I broke up over the Institute in some ways, speaking of stifling. When I admitted to interest in working there in the future, just the possibility of it, he thought the idea laughable. If anything his derision is why I ended up there, petty stubbornness because someone told me I shouldn't."

Admittedly the guy was likely right for the wrong reasons but he wasn't going to give him that. His brow raises at Elias' offer. "I don't think my flat is the type for entertaining snobby guests," he says dryly, then shakes his head. "Yours is fine, I was never particularly attached to my flat to begin with. And yes, I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" He marvels slightly over that, as though he sometimes forgot how permanent this was going to be and the reminder was a good surprise. "I'll make some arrangements soon then." With a perfectly mundane, not kidnapping moving company if all went well.

 

There's that arrow again, drawing Jon onwards to the Institute. It is of course not the first time he's heard a story of someone deprecating the Institute, making a joke of it. They cast a wide net and they take what they do seriously — it's the best way to get the public to actually come in when their need is real. And it wouldn't do for people to stop being skeptical.

As for snobby guests — Elias would keep his facade of an flat even if he moved in with Jon. He probably owns multiple pieces of real estate in London, because he's disgusting, and the Chelsea flat is useful. He'd never considered it a home before, but he thinks by cohabiting with Jon, with all the little things that implies, it might become one. (And then where are the Lukases going to stay? Ah, well, he can consider his options later.) It's good that Jon accepts, though. Elias nods, smiling (god, he's been doing so much smiling, what is happening.) "Good," he says, truly meaning it. "I like having you there." Understatement of the century. "If you need anything, let me know." Because again, money.

 

"I suppose I can buy groceries at least," Jon muses, because his kneejerk reaction to ask about his share of the rent is laughable even to him. Of course he's forgetting they're going to be married not just casually sharing a flat but, to be fair, he's had zero exposure to what married life looks like and doesn't even think of that. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

When the food comes he offers polite thanks, regarding the array with a bit of surprise. "Lord, look at this presentation. They really do go all out."

 

Also to be fair married life is probably just going to look like what they have now, or something very close to it, since Elias isn't interested in anything much changing. "I'm not allergic to anything," he says, fairly certain that's true. Really, really not picky.

Despite that, he does have preferences, and apparently his preferences run very pretentious indeed; these are immaculately plated but still delicious enough to make a food critic cry. The next little while is just spent serving themselves and eating — "You have to try this," Elias insists, leaning across the table with something on his fork to make Jon eat it.

"Do you want one of the spare bedrooms?" Elias asks, consideringly, once they've tried most of everything and are just eating now. "I mean, obviously you're going to sleep with me," and his lips quirk very slightly at that, "And you're welcome to just make use of my space, but I thought it might be nice to have somewhere private." As private as anything can be with Elias. But, Jon is sort of an introvert, and they do also work together, after all. "You can keep it as a bedroom or turn it into a study — I mean, we can convert it into a darkroom if you decide you suddenly want to take up photography."

 

Jon is charmed by the carrot one, let's be real. We're all charmed by the carrot one. He considers how one even goes about eating some of these when Elias offers the forkful of food. He gives Elias a look that says 'trite,' feeding your date and what not, but it doesn't stop him from leaning forward to take the offering. 

And from making a surprised sound when he realizes it's as good as it looks. "All right, I'll admit, I thought this would be the sort of expensive food that couldn't live up to the presentation." 

By the time they've tried everything whatever jitters had eased, in no small thanks to the nice lull of wine but mostly because there wasn't much to be nervous about to begin with. It wasn't as though Elias didn't know him unnaturally- supernaturally, ha- well at this point, so there wasn't much chance of him finding some inexcusably annoying behaviour and changing his mind. The question makes him blink.

"Oh... are you sure you won't be using it for guests?" he asks, rather taken aback by the offer. He considers seriously for a moment. "I suppose a study would be nice. I tend to bring work home, assuming work ever gets back to normal."

 

"There's one more room, should a guest really require it," Elias says dismissively. But if he is going to make a home with Jon he might be a little more territorial about his space; Lukases who aren't Peter may find themselves redirected to hotel rooms.

(Well, that or he'll just buy one of the other flats in the building. Yep.)

"A study then," agrees Elias, even though he still mildly disapproves of Jon taking work home.

 

God rich people just buying flats. Jon's lips quirk, amused at this turn of events. "Never had a study before, that will be interesting. I guess I'll be able to bring my desk after all." His old, beat up desk. His study is going to be hilariously out of place in this fancy penthouse. 

"Not typical first date discussion," he says, still smiling slightly and easily thanks to wine and atmosphere. "I feel like I'm not offering much here, I don't suppose there's something I can do to even it out? I am the one effectively invading your home and all."

 

"Invading implies I don't want you there," says Elias, and he's definitely getting a little too intense for the first date. "That I didn't want to keep you there from the first time I brought you home." Yes, before any of this fake-marriage business happened.

"I understand that money isn't as meaningless to you as it is to me, and so you think if I'm spending it on you I must be purchasing something. Or that you have to earn it in some way." He shakes his head. "I'm not and you don't."

 

"What, really?" Jon's brow raises. "Even when you saved me from that ritual?" He considers this for a long moment, and boy Archivists aren't great at putting two and two together because he finally wonders: "When the Lukases put forth this request you were genuinely irritated by it, weren't you?"

But ah yes, money. Elias has a point. "Well... I suppose I don't want to take advantage in any way." Anyone taking advantage of Elias, lmao.

 

Elias isn't going to answer that because yes. Obviously. Though Jon only just now realizing that has him running a hand over his face a little, despairingly amused. The man has absolutely no concept of when people are interested, it's unbelievable.

"Take advantage, really," he snorts, still a little dismissive. "You're marrying me, at which point it's yours by rights. You don't need to earn it. I certainly didn't do anything to earn it."

He lifts his wine glass, considers its contents instead of looking at Jon. "I understand that it's something of a power differential. So's being your boss. I don't know how to solve that."

 

"Don't do that, how was I to know?" Jon says petulantly when Elias runs a hand down his face in that way. By having eyes, Jon. Anyway, despite the petulance he looks almost pleased. "Honestly I just assumed all your stranger behaviour was to get a rise out of me. I suppose it's more obvious now."

Jon shakes his head- he wasn't exactly one to use money for much besides the basics anyway, no expensive hobbies or life long wishes put on hold due to funds. They were a fine pair, a fortune between them and very little care for it.

He's more interested in the talk of power differential anyway. "To be fair you can't exactly fire me- at least I assume you can't." He is not going to bring up Gertrude when they're trying to have a good time. "I don't imagine I can be demoted or unfairly promoted either. What typical power a boss holds over his subordinate doesn't quite apply here."

Other power in other areas, however, he couldn't say the same. He didn't really have enough information to know what power Elias might have over him anyway. He's assuming not a lot besides information, given he couldn't keep Gertrude in line without murder.

 

Probably some of his behaviour while bandaging Jon up has new context, as a for instance. Speaking of a power differential.

But yes: "I take your point," he says. "In fact, I believe Beholding equalizes us somewhat, in the workplace. You can't compel me just as I can't remove you. As for the money... I suppose all I can promise is that I won't ever use it against you. I want it to make our lives comfortable, but not for you to feel like you owe me anything."

 

Jon nods, taking that promise seriously though more since it seemed important to Elias he do so. "Well I'll... I will tell you if you do unintentionally. I suppose that's the best we can do."

He goes quiet for a few moments before regarding Elias more seriously. "I have two more points to make then. The first is are you being honest when you say my compulsion doesn't work on you? I've been... loose with it's use and I don't want to force information out of you that you don't wish to give, that would be a terrible thing to do."

 

"There was, I admit, recently a brief period that I also wondered — but I think perhaps I'm just unused to seeking anybody's approval." It was love all along. He brushes past that, however, because he knows Jon prefers a thorough explanation. "Your power is of the Eye, I all but am the eye. If I choose to I could probably let it drag a little more out of me so as to evoke in you my own experiences, but I don't believe you can compel me to tell you anything I don't want to."

 

Who would have thought sometimes you like a person and want to tell them stuff. So much to learn. Jon nods to that, clearly relieved Elias wasn't really effected in a significant way. "Sometimes I can't help but let it slip, and I don't want- well, it's like I said. So you don't mind me using it on occasion? For ah... certain purposes as well as practice." He means their weird sex shit with compulsion.

 

Elias laughs delightedly at that. "Are you really asking if I mind?" Unbelievable. He leans across the table, eyes lidding the way they do. "I think there's a very good chance you could talk me off just using compulsion, if you could overcome your shyness to be explicit enough." But don't try and test that here, Jon, he likes this restaurant.

Speaking of explicit, Elias isn't taking any chances, because he states firmly: "So no. I don't mind. I quite enjoy it. What was the second thing?"

 

Unsurprisingly Jon flushes. Surprisingly he admits, "I... considered something like that, before."

Inappropriate sex talk in a public area aside, he does have to steel himself somewhat for the second thing. "Yes, the second point. I need you to accept I don't think I'll be cutting anyone out of my life- Georgie and the assistants. I know to some extent you believe I should do so for my own good, and I can't say I don't disagree about keeping some distance but..."

He exhales, "I'm not asking you to understand or agree, just to accept it. Maybe the time will come when I will, but that time is not now."

 

Elias doesn't really celebrate the holiday season these days for obvious reasons, but it seems to him this is probably the feeling Christmas is supposed to evoke; unexpected pleasure, at receiving something precious. 

So it's sort of a good cushion for the next bit.

"Hm," he says. And it's only because of the setting, the good food and wine and shared intimacies, that he doesn't immediately go into steely-eyes negotiator mode. Jon isn't negotiating. "All right," he decides. "Though I'll remind you that our policy of observation rather than interference still stands, and I trust you'll use good judgement if you decide to break it."

What he's saying is, it's fine for Jon to have friends so long as he can stand by and record when they're devoured by eldritch powers. Elias expects that once he's endured enough of that he'll learn better — which is a foolish thought, because he certainly hasn't.

 

Jon exhales, because he wasn't exactly sure how that was going to go. It went far better than he assumed it would in the end, and he nods to Elias' answer.

"I'll keep that in mind. I- thank you, for accepting this. I know it isn't exactly a simple one where we're concerned." The line between husbands and Archivist/Head of the Institute was a strange one, to be sure.

 

"It is not," agrees Elias crisply. Glances at Jon with something like resignation, drains the last of his wine. "You're asking me to stand by and watch you grieve, ultimately, which is difficult. Georgina, I think, has very good odds of survival, as does Basira. But your assistants... ah, well." He glances to where their waiter has come to start collecting their empty plates. "Who knows. Shall we see the dessert menu?"

 

"Well... if it's such a grievous mistake it's mine to make in the end. I'm sure the Eye will enjoy the spectacle of it regardless," Jon's tone is humourless, and he's glad to step away from the topic. The idea that Georgie and Basira had a real chance was a nice one, even if he wasn't willing to dwell on how low a chance that meant the others had.

"Yes, let's," he was curious to see what Elias preferred there. He was already making note of what dishes the man seemed more interested in. Perk of dating an Archivist, very good memory for small details. When the menu's given he decides to try the coffee flan, deciding to not make a very commoner comment over the prices of some of the bottles listed. He didn't see the 800 dollar one thankfully.

 

Elias is getting the briosche but hold the ice-cream. Which is makes it essentially a fancier version of toast with apricot jam, but whatever. He also orders a coffee, and then toes Jon's foot lightly under the table, something he's managed to resist doing this whole evening. Returns to regarding him with his chin in his hand.

"What's your favourite book, Jon," he asks, even though it's far too late to pretend this is a normal first date. He just wants to know everything about the man in front of him, that's all. Maybe this is how Archivists feel.

 

It takes a lot for Jon not to make a comment about playing footsie, thank you, and instead settle his foot against Elias'. They're ridiculous, he thinks fondly, and is glad for the heaviness of the earlier discussion dissipating.

"Oh... hm," Jon taps his spoon against the plate as though that were an extremely difficult question. "Well, you already know I don't typically read books again after I have. I've gotten better since I was a child but... I rarely see the point." He hesitates a moment before admitting, "Despite some... troubling similarities to beings and statements I don't care for I always enjoyed House of Leaves. I thought it was a rather gentle story at heart- not sure if I'd say it was my favourite. What about you?"

 

"The Shadow our of Time," says Elias after pondering a moment. "Though I am also fond of Voltaire." But no, he too has gone with horror that shares commonality with their own lives. "Oh, and Anna Karenina," he adds. Look, there are too many books in the world to pick just one.

"I haven't read House of Leaves," he admits, because not all f us are millennial Jonathan, but you had better believe he's going to pick it up now.

 

"Good choices, so you enjoy reading? You certainly have an interesting collection." An earnest compliment, Jon was hard to interest when it came to books. "I wouldn't have imagined you the type to be unable to answer just one- or with Lovecraft. Anna Karenina somehow surprises me the least."

Get with the times old man, House of Leaves is where it's at. "Oh, you can borrow my copy if you'd like. I warn you, it's ah... well, it is a story about a book detailing a movie that doesn't exist, and the movie is about a house that should not be able to exist. Rather... Spiral adjacent." And he knows Elias isn't a fan of the Spiral.

 

"Hm," Elias says, and it's true that he is not the Spiral's biggest fan, but... "I'll withhold judgement, I think, until I read it." So yes, he'll take that copy, thanks.

Still. A loose shrug. "Books are about the only fiction I do care for," he admits. TV shows and the like don't interest him unless they're the news or something. "I'm probably a touch pickier than you, but I also don't mind rereading." They're going to be that couple who just sits in bed and reads together, aren't they. "I also like crosswords," he adds, brightly self-deprecating.

 

Jon finds he's rather excited to hear Elias' thoughts on the book, even if they ended up derisive and scathing. Of course this reminds of his increasing interest in learning about Elias' childhood encounter with the Spiral but he's not so dense he'll drag that up on their first date. Small miracles.

They're going to be exactly that couple. Disgusting. "I wouldn't imagine you know enough pop culture for something like crosswords," he says with a slight dry edge. "Tell me, how does a man with supernatural access to information do the crossword?"

 

"I like the cryptic," Elias admits. So, word puzzles and cleverness, of course. "And I don't feel that I require pop culture knowledge, particularly." He's mildly crossword elitist. Catch him with the Times and nothing else.

 

"I thought as much," Jon muses, leave it to Elias to be posh even with his crosswords. "Well, if we're asking first date questions then what about hobbies? Besides crossword puzzles, of course. Nothing in your flat seemed to suggest anything extensive."

 

"Well, I'd count reading and crosswords. And swimming or walking or whatever I feel like doing to exercise myself." God he's so boring. "I like art galleries and museums and such. Does dating count as a hobby?" Probably the way Elias did it. "I suppose not any more, regardless."

Which. They haven't really talked about that. Getting married certainly implies being each other's one and only, but Elias also got nailed over the kitchen counter this morning, so.

 

Jon considers all that for a moment, not really a matter he thought he'd ever have to concern himself with. "Lord, I'm not sure I mind if you continue? I suppose I should, and I think I would if you weren't... well, you."

Meaning it was rather difficult to be jealous or concerned about Elias being swept off his feet when he only recently showed any sincere human emotions. If anything he was more concerned with his dates being dragged along and left broken hearted. The there was Peter, who he certainly should be more concerned over. Elias definitely had feelings there, and yet some damnable part of him was fascinated watching them, seeing where they are now compared to where they were. A less damnable part was glad Elias found some peace with it. A part too small was concerned, at least. Jealous, even.

He sighs, finding the answer no more forthcoming than before. "Do you want to? Continue that ludicrous hobby, that is."

 

"No," says says Elias. "Not that it wasn't a fun way to hear people's stories, but I wouldn't ask anything of you that I wouldn't want to be asked of myself." Meaning, specifically, that he by contrast has the capacity to be incredibly jealous over Jon. And his dates had definitely been dates, however detached from them he was. "I'll volunteer for a hotline or something instead. Take a hairdressing job." You know, the usual kinds of hobbies people have.

 

Jon would laugh at that, just the mental image alone or the leap Elias took from being asked about hobbies to considering hairdressing to get his story fix. Unfortunately the topic did leave something he had to address. "Peter... do I need to be worried there? I haven't minded our ah... situation with him, just- he was your first love, yes?"

 

Jon knows Elias well enough by now to recognize when tension crosses his features, to hear when he's choosing his words carefully even if his tone hasn't really changed from jokes about hairdressers. "He was," he says. "But that man is going to be sailing until he dies. And when he is in port he's not capable of tenderness, whatever fraction of humanity he's kept." He loves the two of them in his own monstrous way, lets Elias kiss him like he thinks it's amusing, but as much a balm as that is for some very old heartbreak it's still not enough to live on.

"Also." A pause, and it's Elias' turn to fluster very slightly. "I spent a frankly impolite amount of our time together thinking about you. So I really don't think you have anything to worry about."

 

Jon watches him closely, a habit that always annoyed his other partners. It feels like you're trying to read me- I'm not a book, Jon,Georgie had told him once. It does mean he catches Elias' tension, learns it like he's been trying to learn the man's quirks. He rarely forgets things.

Whatever intensity that expression had crumbles a bit when Elias mentions thinking of Jon during... activities. If they weren't in public (and if Jon weren't recovering from too many statements still) he'd be tempted to ask for a full statement of that encounter. Awkwardly, of course, but earnestly.

He clears his throat. "Well... good. I ah- lord, how do you say things like this so easily? As long as you're mine in the end, that's all I truly care about. And, I suppose, that he won't hurt you in such a way again."

 

It's very possible that Elias will one day end up giving it to him. But not now, in this highly inappropriate venue. Flirting a little is one thing, explicit dirty talk in a public place is another. Elias would quite like not to be banned from his favourite restaurant. 

He does nudge their feet together though, proxy for wanting to kiss that intense expression off Jon's face. "I am," he agrees, "Yours." How _does_ he say these things so easily.

He can easily imagine how Peter could hurt him; it wouldn't take much. Jon is well within his grasp right now. Even if he didn't trap him, there's probably information he could impart, about the Stranger or about some of Gertrude's more radical views, that might set them on the path towards their doom. 

But he doesn't want to think about having to shoot Jon when they've had such a nice time. Finishes his coffee instead.

"I can get the bill, but we can split it if that stings your pride," he says, and honestly that sounds nice but it's a very reasonably priced place — if he'd actually taken Jon somewhere genuinely expensive he'd be more insistent.

 

"... yes, you are," Jon rather marvels at that, and at how Elias says things so easily, and how this was the most pleasant first date he's been on even if he spent a chunk of it asking his date not to try and cut him off from the world. The man has killed people with no remorse and Jon played footsie with him. "And I am as well. Yours, etc." Romance.

He rolls his eyes at the pride bit, even though now he seems torn between stubbornly refusing to pay for the comment or stubbornly doing so because of it. It's hard being this ridiculous. "You get it, my pride will heal. I am choosing and paying for our next date, so you know."

 

"Oh, I'll look forward to it." Because despite everything he knows of Jon he has not even the first clue what the man will decide they should do together. Unless: "Anything relaying to work doesn't count as a date, just so you know," he ribs lightly, and flags their waiter for the bill.

He drives them home, manages to hold off on kissing Jon until they're in the lift, at which point he pushes him against the wall and does so with intent. "Terribly inappropriate for a first date, but you do make me impatient," he murmurs right up against Jon's mouth, then reaches up and straightens his glasses for him before stepping away.

 

"And here I was, ready to take you out hunting for an ancient skin with me," Jon retorts, though that was a thought. Imagining Elias doing field work was somehow appealing. He'd have to revisit that.

Jon wonders as they return how things would have been if they had actually done things in the 'right order,' as it were. It was a little hard to imagine, and he's about to turn to comment on it when Elias decides to kiss on the first date. He makes a startled sound into Elias' mouth, one that shifts to a much more encouraging one despite himself.

He's still a little dazed when the door opens and, of course, Peter is there to whistle at the state of him. "Someone had fun."

Jon clears his throat, lightly smacking Elias' arm in a 'you did it again' way before grabbing his hand. "Good night, Peter, I hope you found yourself dinner," he says, trying to lead Elias to their bedroom.

 

Elias goes with him, not looking at all chastised by that little whack, giving Peter a shruggy little 'welp what can you do' smirk and a "Good night, Peter," of his own, before firmly shutting their bedroom door.

"In my defense," he says, "I wanted to do that back at the restaurant." He's been _so_ well-behaved, give him a medal.

 

"You are absolutely ridiculous and a complete reprobate," Jon tells him, and then ruins the recrimination by grasping his face and kissing him. He does with little reserve or typical starting hesitance. 

When he pulls back he lets his hand fall to Elias' chest. "Despite that you did very well, I'll admit. An excellent date."

 

Elias links his hands behind Jon's neck and just rests them there, looking, as per usual, very pleased with himself. "I'm glad you thought so," he says, meaning it. "Although I do think my favourite part is getting to take you home at the end of it." 

Despite that he presses a last quick kiss to Jon's mouth and decouples to get undressed and ready for bed (perhaps "moisturizing" should have been on his hobby list). It's getting companionable, which he likes almost more than anything else they've done together so far.

 

"And making a show for Peter," Jon will never not complain, even if he does so with a smile and a general contentment born from the evening. Wine and good food and good company never hurt.

He gets ready in tandem, probably derailing a moment to question Elias on what every bottle did- surely he didn't need _this_ many, did he? - before getting into his shitty old shirt and boxers. Yes, only boxers, how risque of him. He answers a text from Georgie, who was starting to lose patience with his silence, promising to see her soon. When he's done he tosses the phone to the side and settles on the bed, scratching lightly at the marks on his neck.

"Do you think the Eye finds this development entertaining?" Hot bedroom talk by Jonathan Sims.

 

Elias is kind of quietly thrilled by the lack of pajama pants, like he is by any time Jon is domestic or vulnerable around him. For his part he's still Mr Singlet-and-Briefs when he turns out the lights and climbs into bed, and despite the space available on the mattress he immediately takes up residence in Jon's personal bubble.

"The Eye is the embodiment of knowledge, it doesn't concern itself with value judgements," Elias says, slinging an arm over Jon's waist like it belongs there. "I, on the other hand, am very entertained."

 

"Please, if that was the case I would compel clinical, cold statements, not people's diary entries." Jon immediately shift so they can fit comfortably together, squinting at Elias in the dim light and lowering his voice as if the dark called for quiet. "It used to drive me mad how people would go on."

He's glad for it now, if only because he feared what the alternative would have been. He'd rather hear all their emotional nonsense than be shaped into something incapable of taking the emotional impact of what he processed. 

"Of course you are, you enjoy pushing my buttons and now you have carte blanche to do so," he answers dryly, idly tracing up the arm on his waist.

 

"You're just so easy," Elias says, as if that's any sort of defense. "So little work for such lovely reactions. Like the way you blush at being caught kissing in the lift." A lilting tease to his tone, though it's also dropped, everything private in the dark between them. "You've slept with the man and he can still fluster you. It's charming, Jon." Whispered, a little more sincerely. "You're charming."

 

Of course, as if to make Elias' point, Jon flushes and thanks the dark for covering it up. All because Elias said he was charming in a tone like that, it was ridiculous. He leans forward and kisses the man, because he wants to and because he can, pressing their foreheads together after he breaks it just to take a moment to enjoy the contact. 

"You're just shameless," he answers softly when he pulls away. "The worst part is it's charming in it's own way, if we're throwing that word around. Lord, I should have known I'd fall in love with a completely impossible, cocksure menace of man."

 

Elias surges forward at _menace_ , barely lets Jon finish his sentence before he's being kissed again insistently, fingers slipping under that terrible t-shirt to get to warm skin and immediately just palming up Jon's back. The kiss goes from needy back to lazy, breaks with a few last close presses like he means to pull away but can't.

"Sweet-talker," he accuses, low and amused. "You have a big day tomorrow, you know."

 

"You started it," Jon accuses, a touch breathless and extremely tempted to ignore the rest he should be getting in preparation for that big day for something much more strenuous and entertaining. Sadly logic rules, and he sighs as he presses a kiss to Elias' lips before settling himself comfortable against him.

"Good night, Elias," he murmurs a touch dryly, wonders how much Elias even sleeps as he closes his eyes.

 

Elias' hold goes from passionate grip back to a loose cuddle, though he doesn't take his hand out from under Jonathan's shirt. "Good night," he echoes, closing his own eyes; he got so much sleep this morning but he genuinely likes this, the quiet of the room with Jon breathing against him, and he can feign sleep well enough that Jon doesn't actually get an answer to that question. Eventually he drifts off.


	8. the final statement of peter lukas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings include: Canon-typical isolation statement, emotional abuse between family members, isolation torture, mental breakdown, PTSD. 
> 
> Explicit content: Blowjob, face-fucking.

He's reluctant to get up when he wakes, Jon sprawled three quarters over him, chin rough against Elias' neck. He aches all over, and more importantly, if things go terribly wrong, this could be the last morning he gets to have this. So for once he doesn't go anywhere, just strokes Jon's hair idly.

He does, eventually, have to go acknowledge basic bodily functions (meatsacks, why) and decides he may as well shower and brush his teeth, but he comes back after, with a crossword and a glass of water, insinuates himself into Jon's space again smelling like soap and mint and aftershave.

 

Jon wakes suddenly when Elias shifts away, a panic response that eases quickly enough that he's dozing again when Elias returns. He stubbornly wraps himself around Elias again, huffing against Elias' chest like he was indignant Elias dared leave at all, before dozing again for a few blessedly comfortable minutes.

Eventually his brain catches up enough he can't keep that up, and he turns his head to murmur with a sleep rough voice, "Eighteen down is _fois gras_."

 

Elias pens it in, startled into amusement. His clever archivist. "Good morning, Jon."

 

"You're using a _pen_ ," Jon points out when he realizes, completely exasperated. "You're cocky even with the crossword, how incredibly unsurprising."

He yawns, pressing a fond kiss to Elias' shoulder despite his tone. This was a level of casual domesticity that warmed his pissy little heart, if he was being honest. Easy to ignore he was following Peter into very possible danger shortly. "This isn't a terrible way to wake up."

 

"Agreed," says Elias. He loves Jon a lot in this moment, sleepy and irascible and solid against him. "Now. Are you going to help me finish this crossword?" (Elias briefly considers starting something else entirely, but as much as he enjoys Jon's body, he finds this equally rewarding, the two of them thinking things through together.)

So yes, he reads out clues, fills in the answers in pen. At some point Jon gets a difficult one and Elias kisses him, slow and fond. "Honestly, if I could keep you in this bed for a week I would," he informs him. "But I should probably go make us coffee."

 

"I could be convinced," Jon answers, and doesn't bother to wait for any which was telling enough. He was all right at crosswords, always had the memory for facts and word associations, even if the more obtuse clues frustrated him at times. Funny how it was easier when you had someone to talk it over with, and someone to reward you when you got it right. He finds this could be an occasional morning ritual he could get behind.

He makes a displeased sound at that statement but reluctantly pulls away from Elias. "Yes, I suppose so. At least we'll be left alone after today, yes?" he asks as he stretches and slides off the bed to get ready.

 

"With any luck," agrees Elias, "We'll at least be Lukas-free." Knock on wood. Though he won't speak to other possible disturbances; isn't there always something?

Elias is an obnoxiously morning person, so he's already quite chipper, and being grossly in love really only adds to it. He leaves Jon to fumble through his morning ritual and goes to organize them breakfast (there are pastries from the housekeeping fairies today — not donuts because england, but some kind of sweet fruit bun, coffee scrolls, scones with jam and cream.) Hums a little, quietly (it's Vivaldi's Spring.)

 

"Well you're positively disgusting this morning," Peter's unfortunately out first, even dressed and crisp and looking like a man who could be the captain of a ship rather than a weird vagabond. He looks amused but hardly energetic, Elias is the only morning person here. 

He takes a seat, resting his chin in his hand with a yawn. "I didn't even get to hear a show like yesterday and you're cheerful. Life is truly unfair."

 

"Terribly sorry," says Elias without even the slightest sincerity; he is unrepentantly happy, which is probably even more disgusting. Puts food and coffee in front of Peter, perches on the table alongside it. "So what's your next port?" He could look up the shipping manifest but he's making conversation. "Assuming you get your ship back." Oh, no, he's making a threat.

 

"I'd love to hear what you'd do to them," Peter answers, all amusement and fondness. Good breakfast conversation. He picks up his coffee and raises it like a toast. "You know some of them have families, yeah? I love that type, who would go for another run on _the Tundra_ if they have something to go back to?"

He chuckles like it's a lovely joke before taking a drink to it. "I'm not going to kill the Archivist, Elias. As excellent as your mourning would be, we need him to stop this dance nonsense, yeah? Bloody flesh puppets always getting uppity like that. Just another pissing contest if you ask me."

 

"Good," says Elias crisply, pats his shoulder. "But you're right. I suspect the Stranger has been using multiple avenues to try and access —"

He cuts himself off, and then a second later Jon enters, explaining that. Elias hops up off the table, sips his coffee innocently.

 

Jon glances between them as he enters, lips thinning when Peter winks in greeting. "Good morning, Peter."

"Good morning, Jon. I was rather hoping for a repeat performance of yesterday's morning show. Such a shame- but still, we have a whole day ahead of us to make up for missed opportunities," Peter tells him cheerfully, and gets the expected flush as Jon stomps to get his coffee and ignore him.

Peter chuckles before glancing back to Elias. "I have an evening flight, so I'll be out of your hair quickly once our work here is done. Will you miss me?"

 

"Don't fish for compliments, it's unattractive," is Elias' response. He's already told Peter he'll miss him, refuses to acknowledge it again. 

Jon probably won't, and so Elias will be glad to have his Archivist all to himself here again, but — he isn't as ready to see Peter leave as he's pretending. It's nice to spend time around people who are — informed, about the supernatural. He's pacing a little, though it's a broad and slow enough arc that it just looks like movement.

 

"But your scolding is very attractive, I can't help it," Peter answers, apparently someone's frisky and upbeat today. He at least settles enough to focus on his breakfast, mercifully giving Jon a chance to approach Elias, coffee in hand.

"Will my recorder work in this place?" He figures Elias knows and that means he can ignore Peter and whatever comments that would get in return. It also may just be an excuse to get close, like he needs that. Idiot.

 

Elias takes a moment before he answers the question to share a look with Jon that is mostly intense longsuffering over Peter Lukas. Then slips an arm around his waist casually, suddenly rather regretting _not_ taking the time to stake his claim on Jon this morning.

"Yes — or at least, it will function like a normal tape recorder," he tells Jon. No listening ear or watching eye to be present through it; Jon might still feel the truth of the statement, who knows how an Archivist works, but he won't have that sense of someone looking over his shoulder. There are places even Beholding is not.

 

Jon is more than happy to share that look, disdain is a specialty of his and surprise, he likes to share it. He leans in a bit, the mug heating his hands almost to the point of pain but certainly not enough to use the handle alone. 

"You know it's strange, having this level of preparation before heading into some supernatural nonsense. It's largely been very dive in and hope you can swim." Maybe that's why he's not as nervous as he feels he should likely be. He didn't trust Peter an inch but at least he had some time to mentally prepare himself in a real way. He could certainly get used to that luxury.

He enjoys the proximity for a time, shifting only when he notices Peter nearly done with his food. He sighs, shifting to face Elias. "Well, wish me luck and all that. I'll see you soon."

 

Elias takes Jon's cheek in hand and kisses him, heedless of eyes on him. It's a firm kiss, like he's just marking his place, though he takes his time memorizing the morning-coffee taste of Jon's mouth, the feel of his cheekbones under a slow thumb. Holds his gaze for a moment after.

"I'll see you in three hours," Elias says, like he has no doubt that's true. Buttoning down any yearning, any concern, not willing to jinx them both by acting like this really is the last time they'll be together. He trusts Jon. He trusts, stupidly, Peter.

To whom he turns once he's separated from Jon. "Be good," is all he says there — sorry, Peter, you don't get a lingering kiss. Elias is going to go pretend to focus on work.

 

Enjoy the first two hours of complete silence, Elias, until quite suddenly the Eye registers a statement being made, even if it's in a place it can't reach.

"Statement of Peter Lukas, regarding his... realizations on the nature of his family and their patron, recorded direct from subject, thirtieth of May, 2017. Statement begins."

"My family's a rather laughable lot, aren't they? You take a look at their grim faces, their expensive but lifeless suits and dresses, and imagine a dusty old mansion on a hill with lightning striking in the background. They're prim and perfect, like well tended corpses they are, so a stuffy old castle would be the perfect setting for their tale, yeah?

It's not too far off, I'll give you that. I grew up in what many would call a mansion at a glance, an old and breathtakingly beautiful place. Did Evan's catch tell you about it when spoke to you? Morland House, it's called. I could go on about the place, I really could, but I suppose we'll get there in good time. I will tell you this- if you've ever been in a truly old house, the kind so old the character of the family has seeped into the walls, that's Morland House. It's every inch as Lukas as I am, perhaps moreso. It is large, gorgeous and carries echoes farther than you'd ever imagine. It's- ha, silent as the grave.

Now, if you didn't realize by now my immediate family is at the head of the Lukas clan. Back when I was a child it was my father, Alton Lukas, at the head and my mother, Edith, at his side. A lovely pair of corpses, my parents, always dressed to the nines and as distant as you please. Of course with the rich this isn't exactly strange, you can ask Elias as much. Children tend to be raised by the nannies, but I think I'd say I was raised by Nathaniel.

He's my older brother, you see, only by a few years but Nathaniel was always the type to wear responsibility well. Oh, how I loved Nathaniel as a child, that bright eyed regard of a younger sibling who truly believed their elder could move the world as he so pleased. Nathaniel was allowed to stay up later, allowed to go to lower levels of the house, even went with our parents to galas and gatherings, done up and shined to a fine gleam. I suppose some may have become jealous of the attention and privileges poured on him but not me. To me Nathaniel was deserving of it all, and I was as happy for him as if I were the one receiving it.

Don't think I was kind hearted for it though, looking back now I'm sure it was something of a defense mechanism. Nathaniel was the only contact I regularly had- my parents were busy, the help and nannies came and went so quickly I rarely bothered to learn their names. We had extended family to spare but they kept to themselves. My aunts and uncles and the like never brought their children, not that I saw. I think I understand why now.

So, naturally, I wouldn't alienate my elder brother, not when he allowed me to follow him around, to play silly games and explore the nooks and crannies of the old place. The entertainment of boys, of course, daring up until some strange sound spooked us and we ran, laughing. Did you not imagine that sort of upbringing? Given my family's dedication to the forces of isolation itself. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. It's easier to pretend people are born monsters.

Not to say we weren't isolated well. I didn't leave the house itself until I was seven years old, and that was only to go to the cemetery to pay respects to Lukases past. I was tutored, my whole world was that house that still seems large even today. I couldn't imagine a world outside those walls. Maybe that's why the sounds from under the floorboards never truly bothered me.

It wasn't often, it wasn't even particularly loud but occasionally I could hear a muffled noise when I tried to sleep. It was so faint, just the mildest thumping, loudest when I crawled under my bed and pressed my ear to the floor. It scared me at first, it was new and alarming in the snowglobe our parents had us in. I ran to Nathaniel's room right next to mine and crawled into his bed, clutched his arm and let him comfort my fear.

'It's just the house, Peter,' he told me, gentle and amused and so very knowing. I was instantly relieved, though I begged until he let me stay with him that night.

After that the noise lost its teeth. When I'd hear it I'd listen, imagine the house itself groaning its floorboards and creaking its walls. Sometimes I'd go back under the bed and knock back, gentle taps, then louder. Sometimes I swore the thumps and creaks would answer in turn, the house talking back. I delighted in it, as a child delights in a secret. I never even told Nathaniel, imagining myself a child growing up in his haunted house, chatting with ghosts.

As I grew so did my curiosity, and so did my knowledge of the world around me, both the Lukas' world and the one beyond the gate. I was- ha, I was spirited! I wanted more secrets than just the thumping of the house, I wanted individuality and my own adventures out there. I didn't truly understand the 'god' of my family, even as I came to recognize the price of it. The lifelessness in their eyes, the hollow echo of their voices- I saw and understood as a budding teenager this would one day be expected of me.

I hated it, of course. Nathaniel was like me, still living and breathing, with a light in him that hadn't gone out. I'd whisper my secrets to him back then, tell him I wanted more, that I didn't mind monsters but I didn't want to lose him, or all the people out there that could be mine, or joy my family lacked. Nathaniel would listen and sigh and tell me I was rash. We'd argue but in the end he'd ruffle my hair and tell me if I ever needed it he'd help me along. He may not always agree with me, yes, but we were brothers. We were blood, raised together in that haunted house.

That was the phase of my preteen rebellion- I actually did look into the Eye then, you know. I thought of the Vast, the Fairchilds with their ozone smell and endless seas, or even other venues best left unmentioned. During all this my parents and family had little to say of it, stony faced and unimpressed but hardly antagonistic. They'd just leave Nathaniel to deal with me, and Nathaniel was on my side. Maybe that's why I was so lazy with my escape plans, never quite bringing them to fruition.

Well, I suppose part of me was hoping to convince Nathaniel to come with me. Nathaniel, who held his responsibility well and was my only friend besides the ghosts that lived in the floorboards. I was scared for him, deep down, scared of waking up one day to find him hollowed out and lifeless, a husk just like the rest. When I told him he'd shake his head, ruffle my hair. Tell me not to put so much weight on little things. Sometimes a house was just a house.

It culminated eventually in an explosion of action. Funny now I can't remember what it was that set me off that day, some comment from my parents or rush of hormones that came with growing up and growing foolish. I remember a rage, I remember breaking something precious in the hallway- some vase or the like. I remember crying to Nathaniel, telling him I was going to do it, I was going to run away. It wasn't the first time but it was the first time I meant it. I imagine if we were a more mundane family I'd have run off and come back with my tail between my legs a few hours later. 

But we are not a mundane family, and Nathaniel promised to help me sneak my way out when I refused to budge.

So the house itself- it's many floors, many rooms, more hallways than you'd think at a glance. There was never dust on the walls yet the place always smelled faintly like cobwebs. I never saw a maid cleaning but it was spotless, sterile and looked somehow like it had been abandoned for some time regardless. 

On the far end of the west hall that housed our rooms was an iron cast door, one I was ordered to never go near. I tried, of course, but it was locked, and Nathaniel always did have the unnerving ability to find me when I was causing trouble. This is where he took me that night, me barely thirteen and with a bag stuffed with clothes and silverware I somehow assumed I would sell. He took a key from pocket, ancient and spotless and abandoned, and opened that door.

'Just keep going straight, you'll find a small staircase up eventually,' he told me, eyes wide and shining with more emotion than I ever could remember on him. 'Good luck, Peter.'

I hugged him, and if anything could have kept me from the rash decision it was that moment. I held my older brother tight, tried to think of words that would convince him to follow me and could find none. Eventually we parted, and went down into the dark.

I realized quickly this door led to stairwell, one that went down and under the house. I knew we had a basement, likely used for storage and a wine cellar, the stuff of the rich and old. The stairs went an awfully long way but my mind was too caught up in the moment- in the presumed temporary loss of my brother, at the excitement of a new scenery after so long. I went straight when the stairs exited to a long stone hall and I walked. I walked for a very long time before I thought to look up from my feet and my thoughts.

It's funny how your sense fail you when you bury yourself in your emotional state. I hadn't felt the chill of the air, or that terrible ringing that true, deep silence brought. I started stomping my feet just to make sounds, anything that would crack through the quiet, but whatever disturbances I made were swallowed far faster than I could make them. Eventually I just tried to get used to the silence, tried pulling on sweater from my bag to combat the chill. I kept walking, stubbornly, and I-

Well, I felt very alone. Sorry, I suppose I shouldn't laugh but... it was really quite the feeling. Imagine it, a boy who only ever knew this house and a single person with a living spark, yet I never really felt alone before. Are you thinking about it? That sound of distant breathing I described- how we think we are alone with such arrogant certainty up until the moment our foundation is torn from beneath us. Keep that in mind, please, because I want you to really understand what happened next.

Eventually I grew panicked, the hall felt like it went on forever and the silence only grew louder in my ears. I tried speaking, tried calling but the chill hurt my throat and the effect felt like the walls bounced back the sound mockingly. It was worse than the silence, and finally I grew too tired and too scared. I was hungry, I was cold, I wanted to see my brother and even my parents- my haunted house in all it's glory. I turned around, intent on heading back where I came, and found a solid stone wall instead.

Needless to say I was shocked, I touched the wall as if it's impossibility would make it shatter at my touch- but no, it was solid and sturdy. I dropped my bag, searched the wall, palms running across it trying to understand how it could be. I turned-

and there was another wall, inches away where there had once been nothing but an empty hallway.

I screamed.

Now, I'm sure you've realized by now this was not a place that allowed sound to linger. My screams did nothing, insubstantial, and it wasn't until I slammed my fists against the stone that any real sound rang through. Each hit struck the silence, shook the thin but sturdy walls that encased me up to the ceiling so dark I couldn't see. I banged, I smashed my hands against it, I hit the walls until my fists bled and then slid down into a corner to cry myself to sleep.

This went on for... I don't know. Time is strange in isolation, isn't it? I thought I should be dead from starvation, from dehydration, that weeks must have passed yet I stayed whole. I pissed in a corner a few times and when I looked away and back it'd be like it was never there. Strange thing, you'd think such a thing would be a blessing, yeah? Yet it shook me all the harder, like nothing here was truly there, that I couldn't _effect_ anything other than the sound of my hands or feet hitting the walls. Even the blood from my split palms and knuckles went away. I tried to smear it on the walls once, just to make a mark, _stared_ at it so it wouldn't vanish.

It did the moment I closed my eyes too long. That time I laughed rather than cried, and frankly it was all the same.

It was one day- one hour? who knows for sure- when I banged against the walls for no other reason than I could that I heard a thumping back. I can't describe to you the feeling, the fear and elation and overstimulation of senses that hadn't been used in what felt like days. I slammed my hands so hard the scrapes opened again, and eventually there was banging back. I wept in joy and didn't even know why. Eventually I understood.

The sound came from above, and all those times I rapped on the floor I wasn't communicating with ghosts in the walls but... what, prey in a trap? As horrifying as it should have been I was still overjoyed, because the only person it could be was Nathaniel. Surely he'd realize I made some wrong turn and ended up in a place not meant for me- even if the knowledge meant Nathaniel always knew what thumped under our beds at night it still meant he would come and save me. I must have made a mistake, made some slight turn rather than went straight as he instructed. He would understand. He would save me. I was not alone.

A person can hold on to delusions for a very long time. I counted how many times I rapped against those walls, and how many answers I got back. It was enough to fill a full day, to be sure, and yet I kept doing so- stopping, knocking again. Waiting. My sound of distant breathing always answered back until he didn't.

I think it was the moment I realized the truth of things. Remember the foundation? That rock bottom that seems so very low yet so very solid? I didn't walk through a door. I walked into an open mouth that only ever led down a throat and into a stomach. There was no escaping a stomach alive, you could only be broken down until the body that held you got it's fill of what it could leech away. I walked into a mouth my brother had opened, had directed me towards with shining eyes and good luck.

Nathaniel always did wear responsibility well, even when it was unpleasant- _feedings_ of living, squirming things to the snake in the tank.

The fallout is what's important, of course, so I'll spare you the initial reaction in depth. I screamed my throat bloody, I cursed and grieved and pleaded and slammed myself against the stone walls until it felt like I'd break against them. I clawed until my nails split, I was an animal more than a person because it was easier. But I was still a person, and eventually... eventually I stopped thinking that I was alone.

We all are, in the end. I know it's a laughable thing to say to some, grim and edgy and dark, but it's not quite so sharp as you think. It's soft, really, the ringing hum of silence that gets so very loud it swallows you, the knowledge that we've never needed the companionship we make so vital. And eventually a door opened, and a pair of hands pulled me up. I didn't cringe even though to feel touch again was... overwhelming. 

You see I wasn't the only one who cracked that foundation, the end result of losing even rock bottom. Nathaniel, his eyes were dead and hollow when he looked at me, smiled, and asked if I needed a drink. He fed me to his god and let the last of his humanity be smothered with it.

I didn't let my humanity go, though. I languished in it, I still do.

I lived in that house for a while after, you know. Sometimes I would lie under my bed, and wait for the thumping from the floorboards. Whenever I heard the sound it was like opening the wounds anew. 

I always knocked back."

"... Statement ends."

"I told you you wouldn't learn what you wanted, Archivist. My story isn't one full of names and clues to get you to the next goal."

"I... that doesn't always matter."

"Knowledge for the sake of knowledge?"

"Quite."

"Ha, nosy lot."

"I think... I really should hate you. You did the same to Elias in the end, even knowing-"

"Knowing exactly how it felt? A little off the mark, but yes. Nothing quite like being betrayed by the one you love, yeah? But you don't hate me, do you?"

"I don't know."

"You could have been one of ours, you know. You've been alone most of your life, even with people there."

"Don't- just... we're not ding this. Not now."

"That's why you can't hate me, is all. You understand."

And the tape clicks off after a pause.

 

Statements don't usually affect Elias. That knowing, coming unbidden into his head, exists amidst everything else in there, but they don't directly touch him — don't move through him the way they do Jon. This one, though. This one has him putting down his pen in his study, trembling. 

It's the blood on the wall that gets to him. Hadn't he done the same thing? Far be it fo Elias to fly into a physical rage; he's a creature of control. But still, he'd bled, out of a sheer determination to leave his mark, make some change upon the world, perhaps reach out to communicate that— 

But like Peter, it had vanished.

The memory of that awful time feels like a solid weight on him, the vast hopelessness, the distortion of time and self, it all comes back so clearly with Peter's descriptions there to remind him, to reopen scars so old they'd become invisible. He thinks of his sister, of how some atrocities echo in rippling patterns, or a spiral, coming back to the same betrayals each time. Cause and effect, back and back and back, monsters making monsters. It cinches Elias' chest like a steel band, leaves him restless, and he pushes back from his desk and wanders through the empty flat. It's very silent, and very lonely.

But Elias is never alone — he can sit, and close his eyes, open them again somewhere else. Peer out through the eyes of a photograph to watch a young man arguing with his mother; a freckled, bruise-mouthed teenager smoking in her room; a woman with a plait setting her dining table; Tim is lying alone on his bed, the room curtain-dim, on his back but not asleep; Melanie is in a doctor's waiting room; Basira is reading; he can't find Martin. But he's out there, they're all out there, and he can take comfort in that until Peter and Jon return.

 

And they do come back, exactly one minute before the three hours are up. They're suddenly in the living area again, as if they were always there. Peter says something to Jon, too quiet for anyone but Jon to hear, and ruffles his hair in a surprisingly humourless way before heading to the lift. Jon stands still for several moments, pale and quiet and thoroughly drained of energy, before heading toward the hall of the bedroom and study.

"Elias?" he calls, the slightest bit of desperation like he was afraid he wouldn't be answered, would still be in a place other people couldn't reach. When he opens the study door and sees Elias all the tension drains from him, panic subverted to a weak, "I'm ah... back."

 

Elias stands, and goes to him, though he just takes one of Jon's hands at first like they both need to ease back into touch. Jon looks as pale and shaken as he feels right now, though he's had time to rebuild his composure. 

"Do you want some tea?" he offers, because he's very English sometimes.

 

It's probably telling he doesn't immediately tease Elias for being So British, instead nodding and holding Elias' hand a fraction tighter. "Yes, that'd be good."

"Oh, I- he made a statement, it's in my bag," he explains, because he still hasn't quite figured out that Elias gets the statements as they come. It wasn't something he thought about at length, aside from the fact Elias eventually seemed to know them somehow.

 

"I know," says Elias, and doesn't let go of Jon's hand as they go to the kitchen and he puts the kettle on. The whistle of it is reassuring. He isn't surprised that Peter isn't there, or that he hadn't said goodbye. "There's something particularly galling knowing everything he'd put me through he'd first experienced himself."

 

"Oh..." Jon focuses on him, knows he shouldn't be surprised and still is. Part of him, ever curious despite himself, wants to ask how he processes the statements as they come, if they distract, if he hears them or simply _knows_. He blinks that away, frowns and pulls up the hand Elias has clasped in his.

"I don't think I understood- no, I definitely did not understand just how much that... the betrayal of it, how that must have worsened the situation. I only really thought of the isolation itself. I- I'm sorry, Elias. It's... monstrous."

 

Elias just nods at that. It's monstrous, but they're monsters. He puts his other hand on Jon's shoulder, rubs there a little distractedly, brushes his thumb over a mark on his neck. "I'm glad he brought you back," he says instead of any of that. "I wanted to trust him, but I still wasn't entirely sure... well, I've been wrong about Peter Lukas before, that's all." A grimace, and then he remembers. "I do have his ship, though, I'll have to make some phonecalls to return the deeds to him."

 

"... You took his ship?" Jon sounds helplessly amused at that, more a release of tension than anything. He wishes he were the type who had the right words for these situations but he is not. All he could do was exist in defiance to the isolation Peter wanted for them and that was that.

And also shift closer, press against Elias, chest to chest and wrap an arm around his waist. It's nearly too much at first after what felt like nothing, but he's nothing if not consistently greedy for the contact and soon rests his head against Elias' shoulder.

"It was all I could think of to serve as collateral," Elias admits, gathering Jon in close. He strokes gently through his hair. "I was determined that if he took you away from me he would pay for it in every conceivable way."

But he's back now, and Peter is gone, and they made it through. Strange, to feel so wholly different, reforged in this trial by fire. It's been a big week. "You did so well, Archivist," he murmurs, and maybe he really should be thinking of the statements like BDSM, requiring both preparation and aftercare.

Elias watches the kettle start to give little puffs of steam, and thinks of mist. "Will you tell me about it? I only heard the statement."

 

"Oh," That was... sweet? In a rather ridiculous, monstrous way. He struggles with how to feel about it, somewhere between touched and deeply uncomfortable at the idea of the crew that would likely suffer in retribution in his name. Jon decides to ignore the thought in favour of relaxing at the praise, as ridiculous as it was. Well, maybe it wasn't, they both went through quite a trial trusting Peter with this.

"Yes, if you'd like," he answers against Elias' shoulder, unwilling to move away at the moment to a more conducive position for story telling. "He left me alone at first, warned as much at least. I'm not sure how he did it, maybe he came back but he just... was not there. He said I needed to experience it firsthand, unspoiled. It was.... strange. I hadn't- I didn't realize I thought of this flat as alive. To experience it so dead was... unpleasant."

 

"That whole place is unpleasant," Elias murmurs; he has probably had a lot of sex there let's be real.

The kettle screams; he kisses the side of Jon's head and eases him back, detaching so he can make them tea. Opens some plain digestives for dipping. The most ordinary and boring and familiar food in the world, tea and biscuits.

"How long did he leave you?" he asks, bringing the tea out to the long, deep sofa so they can snuggle.

 

"I almost went to the Archives," Jon admits, following him to the sofa as he does. "I was curious, I suppose, wanted to see what it'd be like completely devoid of life. I've been there alone before but I never felt alone, not with the... watching."

He considers a moment as he takes a seat. "That was the strangest part, really, not feeling watched. I never thought I'd miss the feeling." But it was old and familiar now, maybe not pleasant but understood. He thought he'd enjoy being free of it, but he didn't, and that was alarming. "Anyway I didn't end up going, despite it all. I didn't want to feel the Archives dead."

Jon reaches up to grasp Elias' hand, waiting for him to sit beside him but still giving an impatient tug to do so. "I don't know... it felt longer than the hour he claimed it was. I was starting to get a little panicked, I'll admit, and I think that's what he was waiting for."

 

Elias sits at an angle, puts his tea on the arm of the sofa and uses both hands to draw Jon close, wanting him leant back into the protective curl of Elias' arms. They take a moment to settle comfortably, careful of the hot drinks. Rests one hand on Jon's abdomen lightly, fingers scratching over the fabric like a cat kneading bread in contentment.

"Time can be odd, there. But he did come back to you." Not really a question;'there was the statement, after all.

 

"Yes, he did." Jon was grateful he did, even if his feelings on Peter remained strange at best. He could only imagine how Elias felt all those years ago, to be so fascinated by the man and exist in a world where it was only them in the starkest sense. "And we spoke for some time- well, he flirted mostly. He puts you to shame when it comes to- well, shamelessness."

He settles into Elias' arms, exhaling some lingering tension as he does. "He gave some accounts of your more adventurous encounters." There's a hint of teasing, though he was still unwilling to legitimately tease Elias on Peter, especially not after that statement.

 

Elias' arm tightens slightly, jealous despite himself. But Jon didn't look like Peter had done anything too untoward beyond flirtation, and honestly, flirtation was just built into Peter's personality. So much so that even Jon couldn't miss it.

Well. Flirtation and recounting sexual misdeeds, apparently. Elias doesn't blush, but he does clear his throat a little.

"Is that so." Light, and not particularly pained despite the overwhelming memories of earlier. "I'm sure they were all terribly exaggerated."

 

"In some cases I would hope so," Jon answers, a touch dryly, and catches one of Elias' hands to trace his inner wrist. The pulse is strangely comforting. "Nothing happened, of course, between us. He was genuinely surprised by that, I think. Cocky bastard."

He rests his head back against Elias' chest, feeling more at ease as they continued. This world felt very real, at least. "Before the statement that's mostly all there was. He's certainly good at prodding and finding weaknesses, more than once I felt ready to snap at him or try to escape before he reeled it back. I suppose I could make a proper statement for you, if you'd like the details."

 

Elias sips his tea at that _of course_ , glad Jon can't see his face, that he's surprised too. And maybe a little smug, like he'd won something over Peter.

"No," says Elias, though the refusal is thoughtful, has the weight of consideration behind it, because he can't deny he's curious. "No, that's all right. You can keep this one, I think." He trusts Jon to tell him anything pertinent or important. Maybe in a decade he'll ask, if they manage to survive that long.

"And then he left without so much as a see you next time," he concludes, "Leaving us Lukas-free."

 

Jon's a little surprised he refuses the statement, finds it touching somehow. He certainly knew curiosity wasn't an easy thing to wrestle with, probably more so when you were used to having access to whatever information you pleased. He nods though, trying to glance up and mostly getting an up close view of Elias' jawline.

Which is pleasant in its own right, and his lips quirk slightly for the first time since the adventure that afternoon. "Some people have no manners," he answers, then his tone softens. "Are you all right? It's been an intense few days."

 

"Better than I could be," Elias says, not sure he wants to dissect his feelings. Better for having Jon. Comfortable, like this, Jon's warm weight against him. "It's been a while since I've felt this vulnerable." Human, he means, but it's the same thing.

 

"Some consider that a good thing, I imagine," Jon answers, and no, he doesn't care for vulnerability but he can't say seeing Elias' humanity wasn't a good thing in his eyes. "Do you hate your humanity? Or... I don't know, see it as troublesome?"

 

"I..." Elias hesitates, unsure. "Troublesome, perhaps. But if I've learned anything this week, it's that I'll never be fully divorced from it. Not if I want to ably function. I just have to make do with some liminal state."

He puts his mug down, wraps both arms around Jon. Noses into his hair for a moment. "I was born a twin," he confesses very softly. "So I've never been wholly myself anyway."

 

"I'm glad," Jon admits, pausing his exploration of Elias' wrist right over that pulse. "I like your humanity, Elias. As far more than just a useful aspect needed to do this job or exist as you need to."

And yes, Jon nearly jolts in surprise at that information, an impact despite how softly it was given. His mind buzzes a moment, trying to piece together information to make a more coherent picture with this new fact, but he forces himself to exhale and question, "... can I ask or do you need it to be left alone right now?"

 

"We can talk about it," Elias says; he wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't expected Jon to chase after it. And unlike the previous times they've skirted close to this, there isn't a nice day to ruin; he already feels raw with relived memories. 

"Her name was Genevieve," Elias says, and then has to pause a moment, startled by the name in his mouth simply because it's been a long time since he's spoken it. "She lived in France with our father for most of her life."

 

Jon settles in, wonders if this will play like a statement or like they were two human beings sharing a story. It was always hard to tell until it was too late, he found.

Still, he makes a pointed attempt to keep any compulsion from his words or... what, aura? Not that it worked on Elias, but he still felt it important. "Is that what you meant by your family was divided?" He asks, the name already committed easily to memory.

 

"I suppose so," Elias says, recalling when he'd spoken that particular phrase, giving a bitter little smile. "My father owned an estate in Normandy, but my mother was English. They divorced when Genevieve and I were — nearly five, I think. My mother's family brought her home, and she took me with her, I suspect simply to spite my father, since she didn't particularly enjoy having children." 

His chin is resting on Jon's head, words a soft buzz. "Both of my parents are children of dynasties, as it were, so there were a lot of politics and expectations at play. Names, inheritances, bloodline... it's puerile, and I don't expect you to be interested."

 

"Elias, have you ever known me to say no to any information regarding you?" Jon scoffs, the eye roll in his tone like Elias was truly ridiculous for this. "Did you see Genevieve often? Seems rather dreadful to split up siblings, especially twins."

 

"More often once we were old enough to travel on our own. Then less often as we went off to separate boarding schools. We wrote a lot — or, she wrote to me a lot, I wasn't perhaps the best correspondent." As he's mentioned before.

"Have you ever met a stranger and clicked with them right away?" Actually, he's not sure Jon ever has, but he carries on: "It's a bit like that, having a distant twin. We didn't really know each other, but we carried a little bit of the other around inside ourselves. I'm not sure I have he capacity to ever care about anybody again, the way that I loved her."

His words want to fall into the rhythm of giving a statement; he doesn't let them. Pauses for a moment. "Do you want to see the photographs? You'll have to let me up."

 

No, Jon certainly doesn't know that feeling but he can imagine it in an abstract way. Family never meant much to him besides necessary obligations, more like allies, but there's a softness in how Elias describes this that aches. He's not sure if he's glad Elias had this at all or wishes he never had to lose it in whatever horrible way was coming. 

"Oh, yes," he doesn't want to move but it's worth it if it means he gets to see those photographs. He shifts, pausing only to press a kiss to Elias' lips before he's slid to the seat next to him.

 

Elias stands, goes into his study, and then returns again; he hasn't taken them out of the simple gold clasp frame that he took from his room when Jon first came to sleep there. He sits, hands them to Jon, draws one knee up to block the resumption of cuddling.

There are two photos. One is of two tow-headed children, both with the same pale eyes; time has made them slightly less uncanny on Elias today, but in the picture there's a Children of The Corn feel. They're solemn, dressed up, holding hands.

The other is Genevieve alone, a young woman, maybe early 20s. She looks very early-90s, smoky and pale lips, big fringe, a high-necked sweater with strings of round-beaded necklace. Daryl Hannah jawline, Bette Davis eyes, Elias' razorblade cheekbones and knowing smirk.

 

Jon folds his legs under him, takes the photos carefully and examines them with a furrowed brow. The first is strangely... cold? He struggles with the word for it, somber perhaps. Not exactly what childhood photos strived for, but perhaps Elias' family found quietness more important than liveliness and spark. He stares at their clasped hands for a moment before moving on to the next photo.

This one makes his lips quirk faintly. "She has your smugness," he says, too gentle to be proper teasing. She was fascinating to him, all the differences and similarities of the man before him. He takes in the details for a long few moments before handing the photos back.

"What was your dynamic like when you were together? What was she like?"

 

Elias drapes over his own knee, looking at the pictures over Jon's shoulder until they're given back; he closes the frame with a click and puts it alongside his empty mug. He'll put it back in the bedroom later, still closed — which I mention now because I'll forget otherwise.

"Vivacious," he says fondly. "Mean. A breaker of men's hearts. Artistic, much moreso than I was. Much more ambitious, too. She was determined to be one of the great painters of our generation, and I believe she may have one day succeeded."

 

Jon nods, she certainly had a look that made that description sound apt. "Do you have any of her art?" He wondered if Elias would display that, probably not given this seemed an unpleasant reminder to him in general.

 

"Not in London," Elias says. "I only have the photos." It's not just that it's a sore reminder; he's intensely minimalist, doesn't keep anything in this flat without a purpose, and certainly nothing that could give so huge a part of himself away, so all their old letters and gifts, any other photos, other remnants of his past, are packed away in one of his family homes. "Even those... well. Call it a spy's paranoia, but generally I don't like to have pictures of people in my bedroom." He has the triptych, but those ghastly figures have no eyes. So Genevieve sits face down where they can't look at each other.

God, he hates talking about this. Even with Jon. He thought it would be manageable, but he just feels prickly, distressed in a way he's unused to and has forgotten how to adequately process. 

He turns, considers Jon for a moment, and then essentially just climbs into his lap, knees digging into the sofa as he straddles him. "I think that's enough questions about my family for now," he murmurs, cupping Jon's face with an intent look.

 

But he still had them, Jon almost says, even if they were face down and hidden from sight if not mind. He manages to stop himself from saying as much, poking at the no doubt sore reasoning there, and even manages to look only mildly disappointed when Elias puts a stop to the questions. There's no petulances at least, a typical feeling when he was denied a full story, because he can certainly accept Elias needed a break from carving himself out like this. Another reasons statements tended to be... cleaner.

"Of course," he accepts, hands going to Elias' waist as he watches him back. "... thank you, for sharing. I imagine it's not easy." Because he imagines the end of this story was dreadful and heart-wrenching and punctuated with a corpse. 

He stays quiet a moment, thumbs running over Elias' ribs before he speaks again almost hesitantly. "Peter asked me, at one point, why I wouldn't indulge him. He was joking but I had an answer, you know. One I didn't give him. To Peter this is... I don't know. Maybe not a game, but a prayer to his god, or a link to torment and keep some part of you. I don't pretend to understand him but I can easily tell most of his motivations there have very little to do with me or whatever humanity he's maintained.

"You, however... whenever you looked at me you were looking at _me_. It could have been part of a game of manipulation, and I feared that for a while but there was still something there. Maybe you look more at the Archivist than anything but- well, I suppose that's part of me too. How could I possibly give in to Peter when what he wants hurts something in you in the end? There's nothing he could give me worth that."

 

"Jon," Elias manages: stunned, touched. He laughs suddenly, a not entirely happy sound, closes his eyes and touches their foreheads together.

"I love you so much," he admits, sounding a little helpless about it. "All of you." Not just the Archivist bits. After all, he'd cared a lot for Gertrude but he hadn't been in love with her.

 

"Well... I'm glad that ridiculous little spiel was worth something then," Jon answers, fond and incapable of not seeing frank talk of feelings as something to make excuses like that for. Certainly worth it, with how Elias answered, and he closes his eyes as well for the moment. "I love you too, if that's not obvious. I... it's very alarming, sometimes."

 

"Yes," agrees Elias, not remotely offended. It's not terrifying all the time, but only because he isn't always aware of it. And then sometimes it just kicks him in the chest.

He exhales, presses his mouth to Jon's, sweeter and more chaste than he really intended when he just pushed into Jon's space. "I shouldn't want to keep you all to myself," he murmurs. "Not when you're such a hot commodity, little as I know you believe that. But I'm — glad. That you and Peter — didn't."

 

"I know," Jon admits. Elias wasn't exactly subtle with his possessiveness, even if he was fairly certain Elias would have accepted it if he and Peter done something. He may have accepted it but Jon doubted it wouldn't have stung, and that mattered to him, hopeless sap that he was.

"Not about the 'hot commodity,' mind you. Really, Elias, that's the sort of ridiculous slang I expect from Tim. 'Hot commodity," he grumbles, more a tension release but a familiar one. So many feelings in such a short time was stressful, thanks, and the way he reaches up to cup Elias' jaw line like he's very precious indeed certainly wasn't much better than all the sap already spewed. "It's all right, you know, to tell me in the future if something would bother you."

 

Elias grins on a little exhale through his nose as Jon complains. Sometimes he'd swear he was the younger of the two of them, the way Jonathan grizzled. And then he turns his face to kiss Jon's palm. 

"I'll admit that I'm never totally sure what will and won't," he says, shading a touch more solemn. "You've taught me quite a bit about myself these last few days, Jonathan Sims." Awakening a capacity for protectiveness that was more than Beholding being territorial. He kisses Jon again, and then again, light and sweet and fond. That's another thing; pleasure without hurting or being hurt, without agenda or selfishness, just because he likes the way Jon reacts.

"Anyway, it's not that I'm adverse to the idea of you being with anybody else... so long as I'm present." He squeezes Jon's hips with his knees. "You're very appealing behind all that stuffiness. Thus, a hot commodity," he says again, just to be a prick.

 

"Ah, so only to indulge your voyeuristic tendencies," Jon says with more fondness than a statement like that should probably hold. He rolls his eyes pointedly at 'hot commodity' again, as though Elias truly tested his patience with that nonsense thanks, before pulling his glasses off so he could kiss Elias properly. Or at least without the discomfort glasses tended to make part of the experience.

"Prick," he accuses in a breath against Elias' lips. "Regardless, I can agree with any... flings in the future involving you as an audience or active participant, so no worries there."

 

"As an _active participant_ ," Elias murmurs delightedly, though possibly most of his delight stems from being called a prick while they're still kissing; they have such a weird relationship. "Yes, I like the sound of that. It might be fun to see how much you can _take_." Whip-sharp, that word, and then he kisses Jon again, a little more demanding, wanting to leave him flushed and breathless.

 

Never let it be said they aren't a couple of true weirdos, and Jon gets easily irritated at his own predictable fluster to _that_ statement. Fluster and interest, because why would his life ever be simple and well thought through. "Lord, I _hate_ that you can do this to me," he manages, breathless and so very clearly lying by the look in his eyes and the flush still settled on his face. "Who even says such things? It's absurd."

So absurd he grips Elias' shoulders and presses up into him, like he wants to remove the space between them.

 

Elias sort of laughs and groans at the same time, slides forward as Jon pulls him down. "Do you hate it," he asks, but it's rhetorical, teasing. "Because it feels to _me_ ," and he punctuates with the grind of his hips. "That you're very much enjoying yourself. Or perhaps you're just thinking about something else. Like using your mouth on another person while I fuck you." He smirks, shameless — and it feels steadying, like he's stepping back from something unpleasant to indulge in this instead, physicality and fantasies and making Jon flush all over.

 

"Damnit, _Elias_ ," Jon wishes that was properly annoyed instead of the tail end of a plea. Elias' weight against him was so solid though, warm and present and reassuring. He was tired of ghosts today, both stories and towns and unpleasant memories and the literal. 

He tries to grind up, loosening his grip on Elias' shoulders to tug at Elias' shirt. "If- lord, if you're going to tease then take this off," he tries to ask, still more of a plea than anything.

 

It's not as though Elias doesn't respond well to being told what to do; he quite generously strips to the waist, tosses the shirt aside and drapes further into Jon's space. "Teasing implies a lack of follow-through that I don't think applies," he drawls, low and promising. "But do keep telling me what you want, I live to serve." Far too coy to be true. He dips his head, smiling to himself as he starts to slowly unbutton Jon's shirt too, appreciating skin as it's revealed.

 

Jon can't help a breathless laugh, and thinks something terribly trite like _lord I love this man_ as he runs his hands up his chest. He presses his lips to Elias' collar, pausing slightly before mapping the mark he left on Elias' shoulder with his mouth and tongue. This is all very unhelpful to removing his shirt, of course, and he does nothing to move the process along as nips lightly at the old bite, almost testing, thumbs running circles into the skin of Elias' chest.

"And yet... you always seem to get what _you_ want," Jon points out, a smile against skin.

 

"I do?" asks Elias archly, hand fisting in the material of Jon's shirt as soft lips and warm tongue whisper over his skin. He's a little sensitive just to the left of the bite, gasps very slightly at the brush of stubble. "I suppose that's because what I want is you. If you'll forgive me being trite again." 

He fumbles the last few buttons of Jon's shirt carelessly and slips his hands beneath the open fabric, pinching a nipple sharply just to see if it will earn a retaliatory bite. "And you are so very easy," he murmurs, smug.

 

"I'm rolling my- ah," Jon starts dryly, cut off because he gasps at the pinch and tightens his grip. As if to prove his statement that Elias gets what he wants Jon does bite at his shoulder to keep an embarrassing groan in, on unmarked skin next to the first. He worries at it, because he _likes_ the marks and wants Elias to wear them and no, doesn't care to think much about that admission. 

"Smug prick," he accuses against the mark, petulant and breathy.

 

"Mm," hums Elias, pleased by the biting and the insult both. The teeth are a blunt, good ache, and he can still feel the press of them even when Jon's mouth moves on. "Such a dirty mouth. You do have a very good voice for it, though. Truly, I get the shivers."

He presses both hands to Jon's chest, nails digging in below the long stretch of his collarbone, and uses it to balance as he rolls his hips and ass like they're fucking, all fluid pressure in Jon's lap.

 

Jon huffs a laughs, pressing a thumb against the new mark just to see what Elias did. Experiments and all. "If you so enjoy me berating you I can certainly try to oblige." Being a disdainful shit was something of a specialty.

Any amusement evaporates with that motion, dies in a groan and a bit lip. He grips Elias' hips, riding the pressure and feeling a few moments longer before he makes an attempt to speak. "I want-" hell, what did he want? The problem was he wanted everything Elias offered and a great many things he hadn't yet. The problem was he really was never good at voice wants, let alone the easy, dirty nonsense Elias did like it was nothing. Asshole was better at speaking in almost every way, he thinks with irritation and a hitched breath. 

He sucks in a breath and tries again, earnestly. "I want to... try, with my mouth, to ah-" Amazing, Jon. He settles for saying it in the crass way, clearly frustrated by the inability to put it in a more clinical, safe way. "I want to suck you off." Give the man a medal, he did it.

 

It's hard to say what's more attractive: Jon actually admitting he wants something, or the sound of it in those low tones. Regardless, Elias swallows any laughter at his verbal stumbling, not wanting to discourage this forwardness.

He's slowed his movements to just steady pressure, puts a hand in Jon's hair to pull him where he can get at his mouth, kisses it fondly. "You do have," he acknowledges in a low tone, "A very good mouth for sucking cock." Proving once again that Elias has no problem being filthy; he doesn't even blush. "But I think you'll have to ask nicer than that if you really want it."

 

Elias just proves his point by being so damnably casual and unaffected saying such things, and if he wasn't soothed by the kiss he'd probably make a petulant comment about it. He also proves Jon's point that he's a smug prick, asking for that, and Jon squirms a moment before exhaling. He is most certainly flushed red for several reasons now, embarrassment being a chief factor. 

"You're _impossible_ , you know that?" he complains, running his hands to Elias' hips and wondering what he'd do if Jon tried to unbutton his pants. It's tempting to try and find out but he's slightly concerned Elias may make him wait all the longer, some well thought out torture or the like. 

So he swallows, and tries in a stilted mutter, "I want to... suck your cock, please."

 

"There, was that so difficult?" Elias teases, rewarding him first with another kiss, and then by sliding backwards out of his lap. He gives Jon a little shove, wordless instruction to stay put, as Elias promptly shucks the rest of his clothing. 

Instead of reclaiming his place, he puts one foot on the couch next to Jon, unabashed in his living room, the late afternoon light golden through the long windows. He's only halfway to hard, but that changes as he touches himself just for Jon to see, a single easy stroke, his mouth still all amused.

"Was Peter your first for this?" he asks, keeping his tone light, playing with Jon's hair a little affectionately.

 

Jon does lean forward at first as if to get up as well, frowning slightly when he's pushed back but taking the hint to stay put. He watches and yes, enjoys the show if his intent look is anything to go off of. Thoughts of empty worlds and dead flats were blessedly far from his mind.

"... yes, obviously," he murmurs, then amends, "I mean the first man, at least. I've went down on a woman before, obviously it's rather different." He shifts again, awkward and clearly not trying to give in and touch himself or at least unzip his pants for some relief. "In the ah- in the interest of being communicative, I did enjoy it. With Peter. Largely because I knew you were watching. I would like- lord, I want to get better with it, all right? I want to learn what you like, make you... make you lose some composure." Still stilted, but boy he's trying.

 

"Typically I prefer giving to receiving," admits Elias — something Jon must surely have picked up on by now, all things considered. He can probably expect the blowjob alarm clock to revisit plenty of times in the future. But before Jon can take those words as a sign to stop, maybe reverse their positions, Elias' hand tightens in his hair.

"But," he says, shifting his weight forward as he pulls Jon into place. "You did ask very nicely." And he's discovering he likes this too, being the one in charge, encouraging Jon close to where he's holding his own cock ready, and just brushing the head across his lips with the shiver. "All I could think about when I watched you with Peter is what you'd look like if it were me instead. Turns out it's a lovely sight. Even if it seems like a shame to stop you from speaking when you're doing so well."

 

Jon does consider moving back, he'd hardly push if Elias wasn't interested, but Elias continues speaking, tightens his grip in Jon's and pulls him close. The little sound at the back of his throat is impossible to swallow down. He wets his lips, tongue grazing the head of Elias' cock, and shudders.

"Elias," a plead again, half frustrated with himself for being so very easy to get to this point. He blames Elias, of course, the man was a shameless cretin, clearly. His grip on Elias' hip tightens. "Even you can't have it all, at least not at the same time," he shoots back, rather ridiculous given the pitch of his tone. He does open his mouth, glancing up at Elias with something of a challenging look despite the flush to his cheeks.

 

"I could just keep doing this," Elias teases, stroking himself again, a long slow pull, hand still keeping Jon in place so he can feel the way Elias nudges his lower lip. "We've discussed you talking me off, I believe."

But before Jon can respond with any actual compulsion, Elias presses in to the open invitation of his mouth, just enough to be an impediment. It's barely the first two inches of his cock, just sitting on the soft wet of Jon's tongue. "Lips over teeth," he murmurs helpfully, "And suck." Though getting suction just draws him in further, and he doesn't move, just stays there watching Jon acclimate, scratching his scalp lightly.

 

Jon would have, in a heartbeat, tried that if it meant Elias doing anything. (Even if that anything was holding him there, shuddering through questions then coming over his face and- lord, he chokes back a sound at that mental image and palms at himself through his trousers for any sort of relief.)

But Elias moves instead, and Jon makes another soft sound at that, tongue pressing up against his. He's a little more in his right mind than he had been when Peter got to this point, and he considers the strange taste more than he did, the weight of it, before doing as Elias asked. Elias is much more helpful than Peter, surprising exactly no one, he takes that advice, sucking gently at first then with a little more force, testing. He leans into the scratching, glancing up despite the flare of embarrassment as how this all must have looked. Less of a mess than last time, to be sure, and he wanted to see Elias.

 

Elias is looking back, pupils blown at the sight of Jon's red mouth wrapped around him, the little moue of concentration that pinched his brow as he sucked. "Perfect," he murmurs, letting go of himself to thumb at Jon's mouth a little, catching the barest hint of wetness from the corner and smearing. "A very good start." He's breathless but otherwise shockingly composed.

"Although. I will ask you to stop touching yourself, please, that's _mine_ ," Elias scolds him. "Hands on me if you can't keep them off yourself. Now, you're going to move; take a little more into your mouth, pressing into your soft cheek, and then suck hard as you pull back to lick the head." Because if he wants a good blowjob he may as well make sure he gets one. "Then take it again — that's good."

The compliments are going to become a running commentary; Elias is free with his praise, telling Jon how hot he looks and how good it feels.

 

If Jon weren't concentrating he might chuckle at this, at how Elias could make directions on a blowjob _he's_ receiving sound like explaining new duties in the workplace. He groans (muffled, of course) but does as he's told with his hands, gripping Elias' waist tightly. 

Elias is much more helpful in his instruction than Peter was, and as intensely pleasant at Peter's rough, quick treatment was he easily prefers the direction, the unrelenting way Elias led with his damned composure, the praise that always has an effect on him he wishes he could hide. He's nothing if not a quick learner (in some areas, at least, certainly not common sense) and follows those directions to the tea, not bothering to muffle the wet sounds that escape his throat with embarrassing frequency. Even a dick can't shut Jonathan Sims up completely, someone put that on his biography back page.

He tries to pick up the pace somewhat, tries to figure some things out himself though he always glances up as if still edged with uncertainty. Again he nearly laughs around Elias' cock, ridiculous as it was, because of how damn much he _wants_ to do this well for Elias. That was the appeal, wasn't it? As appealing as the way compulsion made him shudder in that way. Lord, he was in deep.

 

Elias doesn't stop touching him, petting his hair and his face, doesn't stop telling him how good he's being — they've had a rough day, and he wants this gentle. But once he feels Jon's doing well enough on his own, Elias pulls his hair sharply just to hear the thick-throated noise he makes — Jon's inability to shut up easily the hottest part of this.

"Stay still, sweet man," he murmurs fondly, "I'm going to fuck your mouth."

Things get a little messier after that — as much as Elias likes watching Jon with a cock in his mouth it doesn't quite get him all the way, and his enjoyment so far hasn't really fractured his composure. This, though, pressing into Jon's throat just to watch him struggle to take it, this is enough to have Elias come apart a little. His instructions give way to groans, and his head falls back as his hips strain forward, greedy for it.

 

The hair pulling gets the expected sounds, and Jon would nod to what Elias said if... well, his mouth wasn't full and his head's movements largely controlled. He hums an affirmative instead, tries to relax his mouth and throat as he ended up doing for Peter. He didn't have a particularly sensitive gag reflex, thankfully, but Elias's pace certainly tests that. Choking a little like that shouldn't be enjoyable but it is, somehow, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from it though he tries to keep his gaze on Elias when he can.

And this _is_ what he wanted, Elias like this, composure cracked. He wishes he had least unzipped his damn pants because he's hard enough the confines are unpleasant, to say the least, and it takes a lot of willpower not to reach down while Elias was distracted. Elias would probably know even with his eyes closed, he manages to think, and he groans, broken and wet as his nails dig into Elias' skin without thinking.

 

Elias swears, low, mutters Jon's name like he'll be the absolute death of him, and pulls out, back, thick saliva stretching between them before it breaks. He holds himself tight in one hand, breathing hard. 

"I'm close," he explains, as if that wasn't obvious by now from the way he'd just been using Jon's mouth, the strain in his whole body, balls lifted tight. His brain is a bright hum of wanting, needing to get off, which isn't the worst place to be, but — he makes a frustrated noise, strokes himself. "I'm _very_ close," he repeats warningly, and then groans, and Jon can either take him into his mouth or catch it in the face, those are his options now as Elias works himself to completion.

 

Jon gasps when his mouth is free, sucking in air and ignoring how saliva drips down his chin. It's easy to ignore when Elias looks and sounds like _that_ , groaning and frustrated in a way Jon isn't used to. He realizes somewhat belatedly the choice he has here, somewhat distracted and struck by Elias before him. With more time he may have chosen differently, but instead he just closes his eyes and makes a soft sound as Elias comes on his face.

Which is... better than something like that should be, he thinks as he blinks his eyes open, lashes sticky with a stray drop. He lets go of Elias' waist to catch a drop as it runs down his check, rubbing it together with his fingers before hesitantly tasting it with the tip of his tongue. Salty and strange as he expected, and he flushes a moment when he realizes what he just did.

He is also too painfully hard to dwell, squirming and trying to keep to Elias' rule before. "Elias, please, I-"

 

Elias drops forward into his lap again, spent, catching his breath as he feels Jon shiver beneath him and then beg. Makes a _nuh-uh_ hum of a noise, finding Jon's hands and linking his own fingers with them, squeezing his hands tight. 

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice gone all bass. "All messy and turned on just from sucking cock." He knows Jon is thrumming taut with aching frustration, and he takes pity. Lets go of Jon's hands to unbutton his pants himself. Takes his time with it, thumbing the bulge he can feel. He lifts himself out of Jon's lap onto his knees, says roughly, "Take them off." Reseats himself once he does and takes Jon in hand.

"Mm," he murmurs, looking down, enjoying the view — they're both so marked up all over, bites and bruises and crescent nail marks. "Next time I think I'm just going to use you as a prostate massager. See how long you can last."

 

"You..." Jon's voice is a rasp, throat used and lips swollen. He grips at Elias as he plays around, quick to follow his instructions and pull off his pants and boxers without an inch of shame. Rather difficult at the moment, and given he was flushed and come-covered and nearly shaking something as ridiculous as nudity seems tame.

"Shameless," he gasps, pressing his forehead to Elias' shoulder and smearing some come there. What a mess they are. "God, Elias, I- please," there's a lot he could say, some of it surprisingly dirty and some surprisingly sweet. He thinks of being in that lonely, dead world and pressing fingers into a mark Elias left like an anchor, a reminder, and how the dull ache was a kind one. He chokes back a sound that has a little more emotion than just need. "Anything. Anything you want."

Now that's something he could live to regret saying, and it's so very freeing to not care in the slightest.

 

"Shh shh shh," soothes Elias. "I know. Come back here, look at me, please." He coaxes Jon up, nudges their noses together (he is going to get his own come on his face and he absolutely doesn't give a fuck.) "Let me see you." 

Because what he wants is this, holding Jon's gaze. His own is sleepy-dated, eyes hooded but still sparkling avidly as he drinks in everything from Jon's needy expression to his slick mouth. And his hand works between them steadily.

"I have such a long list of things I want to do with you," he promises. He wants to do every sex thing he's ever heard of and do it gently, overwhelmingly, wants to watch it overtake Jon, sweep him away into something other than gruesome terrors. "But we have time. I just want to see this, now." No teasing, just bringing Jon straight over the edge.

 

Jon looks up, and if he was in clearer mind he'd probably wonder what they look like when they get like this. Elias stared so intently it was like he was trying to pierce straight into him with his gaze alone, and Jon knew he was often the same. Maybe it was hilarious, maybe it was unsettling, but lord if he didn't understand the need to see everything in this moment. Figures it'd be just his luck that only a monster of a man would understand.

(And despite his luck he found his way here and was happy, as frightening as that was. Definitely not something to dwell on when he was mapping the smudge of his own come Elias had on his face.)

"Yes," Jon agrees in a breath, they somehow had time. He bites out Elias' name, barely lasting more than a minute more before spilling over Elias' hand and gasping. He pants a few moments, glancing up with quirked lips and a breathless, still somewhat rasped tone, "You have a little something there..."

 

Elias laughs, low and bright, as much a tension release as the orgasm. Then he just reaches up with his slick-wet hand and smears it deliberately over Jon's chest. "Oops," he says, deadpan. Clean up is going to be a bitch.

He kisses Jon then, just a light press of lips that turns into a flutter along his jaw, and then a happy little sigh. "That was exactly what I needed, I think, thank you."

 

Jon smiles when Elias laughs, feels a damned sap for it and doesn't care. It ruins the dryness of his tone. "You're a complete menace, I hope you know."

He breathes out his nose, follows the kiss that's sweet and tastes like come and isn't that a damn mix of things. "I'm glad. I think I did too, honestly." He soothes over the angry crescents his nails left, taking a few moments to breath before sighing. "Come on, we both need a shower now, thank you very much."

 

It's gotten dark while they were messing around — a couple more months and the sun will be setting at 3pm. "All right," says Elias, sounding put-upon, but he stands and reaches down and takes Jon's hand to pull him up to standing as well. Turns on lamps and lights as they go. He doesn't stop holding hands until they get to the bathroom and he has to. 

He turns the water hot: really this is all just an exercise in rare hedonism. His physical needs making themselves more known the longer Jon is in his life. "A shower," he agrees, "And then I'm going to consume the entire contents of my refrigerator." Probably there won't be any clothes between those two things.

 

Jon follows, entwining their fingers as he does and enjoying not having a guest that could walk in on them. Probably purposely, in Peter's case, and while Jon wouldn't say no to a repeat of their more pleasant encounter he could do without the constant teasing, thank you.

He groans at the water when he steps in, enjoying it a moment before pulling Elias close, chest against his back and using Elias' shoulder to rest his head on as he chuckles. "That does sound lovely but I think I'm going to bed as soon as humanly possible. Remind me not to take so many damn statements one after the other." Like he'd listen to that reminder. Also constantly banging during/after those wasn't exactly helping- well, to be fair it was a very lovely way to relieve the tension build up and come back to his own skin.

 

Elias leans into Jon and the feel of the water, listens to the sound of that roughened voice echoing around the tile and hums, pleased. "You really do need to take better care of yourself," he murmurs, though what Elias actually means is that he needs to take better care of Jon. Obviously being careful not to give his own stories as statements isn't enough. (This thought is very likely to manifest in dragging Jon to the kitchen and making sure he eats a sandwich and drinks a glass of water before Elias lets him sleep.)

"Or at least learn to pace yourself," he continues, like he's not making insufferable plans to torment Jon with his care. "I don't want you to burn out." But that would require common sense, and as established earlier, that's not really Jonathan's forte.

 

"Blame Peter, it's not as though I could ask for a raincheck on this one," Jon answers, as though he wouldn't have taken the statement then even if Peter was staying another month. He lingers a moment longer before pulling away enough to grab the soap and begin the process of cleaning himself off properly. Once his face at least was clean he returns to invading Elias' space.

"I hope he and the Lukases are happy with the delay they've wrought. As though we all don't have more important things to do than this ridiculous song and dance." Grumble grumble. He glances at Elias a moment before admitting, "I suppose it was worth it for the end result."

 

Elias is relaxed enough to just lean a shoulder against the tile and watch Jonathan wash himself, grumbling about delays all the while. It's not as though he's wrong: this has undoubtedly been a waste of both their resources, and Jon taking statements unrelated to the Stranger at a time when that deadline was so pressing was stupid in a way Elias shouldn't have allowed. 

And yet.

He touches Jon's clean, wet face a moment with a little smile, a shared look of fondness that doesn't really need the words considering how many they've already spoken today. Then turns his own face up under the water until they're both clean.

He's tempted to linger — sex and the hot water together have reminded his body that Jon hasn't been the only one overexerting himself recently. But he can tell Jon really is sleepy, so he stops the shower.

"You'll work it out," he says as they dry off, and it's not clear if he means Jon will work out his schedule or the lingering mysteries he's been distracted from. "Now. I'm not letting you sleep until I've seen you eat something."

 

"At least one of us is sure of that," Jon answers, dry but for once not particularly bitter. Maybe he'd never be happy about Elias' 'figure it out for yourself' method of management at the moment but he at least believed Elias did truly think it was for the best. And maybe it was for the best, hell if he had enough information to know. At least it felt like we was getting somewhere, even if it was nowhere near the skin Nikola wanted and what to do with it.

His lips quirk at Elias, reaching out to brush at a lock of Elias' wet hair before his smile drops slightly at that parting comment. "You are so _fussy_. I'm fine," he huffs, and realizes he hasn't eaten since the morning. Damnit, he hated when Elias was consistently right. "Fine, but you need to try and sleep when we're done. I don't believe this 'I don't need as much sleep' nonsense."

 

"Fine," says Elias in the same tone, mocking. He towels his own hair into a mess to dry it, continues from beneath the towel: "While it's true that I don't, sharing a bed with you isn't a hardship." Because he just cuddles Jon and listens to him breathe like a big freaking weirdo, yes.

Anyway, once he's dry enough not to drip he heads off to the kitchen; there's crudités and sandwiches and cold pasties; he eats some celery while he fixes them a plate, gets them both water.

 

"Smooth bastard," Jon sighs to himself, drying himself off and pausing when he finds there's another robe in the bathroom now. The housekeeping fairies came again, and he marvels a moment at how they managed to do so without his notice time and time again. It was almost eerie, and it might even bother him like the paranoid mess he is if it wasn't for Elias. Rather hard to worry when your fiance was the world's best home security system.

He wraps up in the robe, follows Elias and leans against the counter, watching him go about. Almost worth not going immediately to bed to see him move around the kitchen and remember yes, they were home. Ridiculous. 

He accepts the water first, nodding his thanks and taking a long drink. "What happens now?" He asks after a beat, turning the water in his hands. "We go to work and hope the rest of the Lukases will leave well enough be?"

 

"I can handle anything further from the Lukases," Elias says with confidence; any upset feelings of earlier have been smoothly papered over and he's back to being cocky about everything, "So that's nothing you'll have to worry about for a while. 

"We'll go in tomorrow, yes, but take some time to research, do your paperwork." Because he doesn't want Jon out in the field taking statements for a few more days yet. He can listen to Gertrude's instead, perhaps.

Then he drapes along Jon's side, warm and naked and shameless. "Jon," he says quietly, lifting a sandwich quarter and tapping his mouth with it, "Don't make me feed you, because I will."

 

"Glad to see you're smug again. I can't imagine they have anything worse than Peter to send at us," Jon says dryly, and almost wants to knock on wood. Almost. He nods to going in tomorrow, not particularly thrilled since he was still leaning towards Avoid Everyone To Keep Them Safe in the grand scheme of things. He also still hadn't settled the yeah I'm marrying Elias (for real this time but you don't know that) thing with all of them satisfactorily and wasn't looking forward to that, especially sporting a whole new set of hickies. Thank god they wouldn't be able to tell they were from two different people or he would personally contact the Buried entity so he could live in a hole for the rest of time.

He blinks from these grim, stupid thoughts at Elias' naked accosting, lips twisting in a smile that was trying very hard to be an unimpressed grimace. "You couldn't even put on a _towel_ ," he points out, trying to snatch the sandwich and yes, eat it. He even takes an exaggerated bite and lifts his brow at Elias like a teenager going 'happy?'

 

"I admit, I don't see the point," says Elias, letting Jon take the sandwich from his fingers and eat it, getting his own to munch on. Apparently he's content to just eat like this, standing in their kitchen, getting crumbs on the shoulder of Jon's robe.

"It's climate controlled in here; with Peter gone it's just the two of us and you've seen it all up close and personal; and I don't typically wear anything to bed." Apparently his attire so far when he's had Jon here has been the Elias Bouchard version of modesty. "I suppose if someone was looking in through the reflective seventh story windows they'd get a peek, but I expect for that level of dedicated peeping tommery they would want one."

 

"Oh," Jon says, about the sleeping in the nude. He's surprised by that, more that Elias bothered clothing himself when he could have easily teased Jon by at least forgoing a shirt. That was... surprisingly nice of him. It even momentarily distracts him from the crumb situation. "Well... given everything I suppose you can start doing so again, if you were holding off for my sake. Modesty is clearly not a strong suit."

He clears his throat, then gives Elias something off a Look before flicking some of those crumbs in his direction. Notice how he does not in any way push Elias away. "I think I'll stick with pajamas, if you don't mind," he says dryly.

 

"If you really must," Elias murmurs like he's very put-upon by Jon wearing any clothes at all ever. And swaps from sandwich to carrots, which are much less crumbly.

They just eat in silence for a bit, and then Elias kisses his neck and detaches, puts their plates in the sink. "It's still surprising to me that you're staying," he murmurs when they finally slip into bed, and he drags Jon's arm over his waist, settles into the cradle of his embrace. Not facing him, for once, because he thinks he may actually be able to fall asleep fast after today.

 

"Some of us aren't shameless," Jon points out, then admits, "I never really tried sleeping that way. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try it one day." He sounds vaguely uncertain, as if this is somehow an actual important thing. Imagine being this repressed.

He does get into boxers and an old shirt, no experimenting today, settling back about Elias with a contented breath. All this touching and human contact and such was addictive, he'd come to find. He runs his fingertips over Elias' knuckles as he considers that statement. "It would have surprised me a few days ago," he admits quietly. "It doesn't now. I'm... happier here than I've been in a very long time." Despite the situation, and sometimes he felt naive and foolish for it but he simply could not give this up, he wasn't strong enough for that.

 

"Good," says Elias, snuggling back into him. "I'm glad." All he wants is for Jon to stick around, so the fact that he's going to is its own bright note regardless of his reasoning. 

"Goodnight, darling," he murmurs, letting them both off the hook of any more feelings talk by settling into sleep.


	9. drinks with tim & georgie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings include: drinking, drunkenness, consenting sex with established partner while drunk.
> 
> Explicit content includes: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Felching/Rimming.

The next morning has the pleasantness of a budding routine; Elias frees himself from Jon's warm arms early, puts the coffee on and goes to work out; when he gets back he showers and they breakfast together and head in. It's a level of scheduled domesticity that gets him right in his "grew up in boarding schools" places.

"I've got a lot of department meetings today," he says, kissing Jon's cheek lightly in the foyer. "So I may run into overtime — do you still have your key?"

 

Jon's not far off with the domesticity dokis, given he never really had a schedule that revolved around another person in such a way. He finds himself watching Elias and smiling, something he tries to squash before he's caught and often fails. He makes two omelets, tries to time it so it's not cold before Elias gets back. Yes, he took note of when Elias seemed to return from working out and worked around that, that's the kind of thoughtful overthinking that you get when dating an Archivist.

"I do," Jon answers later, pulling said key usb thing out of his pocket to make a point. "I may drop by Georgie's then, explain things a little better than before. You'll ah... you'll call if you're going to be very late, yes? Some of us don't have the same abilities as the esteemed 'Head of the Institute.'"

Meaning he'd _worry_ which was ridiculous but not enough he wouldn't ask for a heads up.

 

"I will," promises Elias, putting his bicep and squeezing in lieu of kissing him again and starting a scandal — he does have some propriety after all, it seems, though it really only extends to this building.

In fact, he texts, which is somewhat rare for Elias but the magic of technology syncs his phone messages up with his computer, so he's actually just typing on a normal keyboard.

`Hello. It's lunch time. Please stop working and eat some food. There is pasta salad in the break room that Rosie made.`

Elias isn't in the break room, Elias is in a conference call in his office. Tim is, though; he's lined up three plastic bucket chairs and put sofa cushions from the statement waiting room on one, and he's taking a nap. Ostensibly — one eye opens when Jon comes in.

 

The day was going well enough, all things considered. Basira at least made a point of dropping in to his office, looking him up and down and then making a flat comment that he looked relaxed. Needless to say Jon sputtered at that but Basira smiled almost invisibly and waved it off, said she was glad he was doing all right. Jon was a little touched when he realized she was probably making sure he wasn't being trapped in some miserable, eldritch endorsed marriage. If only she knew how close that was.

He gets paperwork done, sends Melanie to get some safe information and generally stews over what to do next when he wasn't immediately preoccupied. The matter with the skin was still a problem he barely understood how to go about, even with more leads than before. What would he do if he got it? Moreso how would he handle surviving when he probably didn't give it to Nikola? Would they attack Elias too if they had to?

His cellphone's chime snaps him out of that and the message makes him smile, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. `You're ridiculous.` He does take the time to type all that out properly, no special keyboard. Fussy bitch.

The thought of food isn't a terrible one though, so he pockets his phone and makes his way over, possibly pausing just to send Elias some thought or another on how ridiculous their paperwork was and how the organizational systems around here still desperately needed work. He's a little disappointed when Elias isn't to be seen when he reaches the breakroom, but the strange construction of chairs certainly catches his eye.

And he freezes when he sees who's on it. A dry reprimand is on his tongue but to say he and Tim were on rocky terms with each other was... well, true. He clears his throat. "Tim," he greets, debates whether to say anything more for a long moment. Decides on, "you may as well bring your own sleeping bag if you're going to be this... creative." Nice.

 

Tim makes a soft _ugh_ noise when he realizes that Jon is actually going to A. use the break room for its intended purpose and B. speak to him. Sits up, looking a little blurry like maybe he really had managed to nap on this terrible makeshift bed.

"There used to be a camp bed downstairs," he says flatly — the one Martin slept on when he lived in the Institute, he knows Jon remembers. "But, someone cleared it out recently. And if I try to go sleep in the park, or anywhere else that isn't here, I get—"

Nightmares. Nausea. But he breaks off building himself up into a rant, can't really be bothered with anger. "You're looking well," he says instead, clearly meaning _well-shagged_ , because jesus Jon.

 

Jon wonders if Elias would blame him for retreating from the room without lunch. There aren't many things he could say that wouldn't make things worse, at least he's pretty sure. Even when he did make an effort to say something inoffensive it seemed to annoy Tim.

At least before the Leitner bit. Lord, their lives were a mess. "... I hadn't noticed it was taken out." Given he's barely been in the Archives since his flight. He strides stubbornly to the meal Rosie made, glancing over at Tim's comment and, surprising no one, not immediately getting the implication until he does and he turns sharply back to the bowl, reddening.

"I'm not sure I like that tone," he mutters before exhaling through his nose and placing the empty plate he picked up down. "We should... talk."

 

When Jon _blushes_ Tim gives a hollow little exhale of a laugh. He would have taken real joy in that fluster once. And maybe he also would have been happy for Jon, getting proper shagged after what was probably cobwebs, but right now happiness seems difficult to muster.

He gets up, stacks his chairs noisily. "Sure thing, boss. This a disciplinary meeting or more a lunch chat?"

 

"Neither, I don't think. Probably long overdue anyway," Jon answers, turning to face Tim but not approaching. "I ah... have been told by multiple parties I should make more of an effort to keep you all in the loop, so... so I've been considering doing so. Or- I mean I will, I'm just not certain how wise that really is ultimately."

He rubs at his temple a moment, boy this was awkward. "But... before I could do anything of the sort I imagine you and I have some bad blood that needs settling. I know when we last tried to speak it went.... poorly," yeah, shockingly bringing out the recorder on instinct hadn't really been a brilliant move on his part. Admittedly this was the first time in weeks he felt well rested and wasn't recovering from some nasty injury. Things were a little easier to process. "But I can promise no recorders this time, at least."

 

Oh, now, they're talking now. Tim pulls a face and then heads over to where Jon is — if _he's_ not going to eat the pasta salad then Tim certainly will. He's not sure how long it's sat out of the fridge, but honestly if he gets food poisoning that might be a blessing.

"Right." Tim looks him over dubiously, like he suspects Jon's trying to hide one in his pocket or something, but when he seems to be telling the truth, Tim looks back to his plate and says, in a wholly different tone, softer: "Right."

"Think I've said everything I have to say to you, at this point," he says, taking a seat again, all insolent manspreading. "But go on."

 

Jon tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels and fails spectacularly. He clears his throat as a stalling tactic and wonders what he even had to say. He wonders if Elias meant for this to happen when he sent Jon to get lunch or if he expected them to ignore each other.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I'm sorry," he ends up saying a little helplessly. "After Prentiss I- well, I doubt you want to hear my excuses. To put it simply my... method of dealing with our line of work was stripped from me, that on top of everything that happened was- you saw the result. I became fixated on solving the problem and ignored the ramifications of my actions as necessary unpleasantries. I shouldn't have assumed a great many things I did, especially that you didn't need some form of support from... me."

He almost says _'a friend'_ but can't bring himself to, instead rubbing his arm awkwardly and glancing to a folder someone left lying around on one of the tables. "I'm not good at support, if you couldn't tell. Hell, I'm not qualified for this position at all and hardly realized until it was pointed out. So... I'm sorry. You all deserved better." He absolutely does not have it in him to bring up Sasha but yes, she more than any of them.

 

Tim listens quietly, jaw set, pushing pasta and celery around his plate without actually eating it. He looks sullen, like a teenager, and then as Jon continues that morphs and he just looks tired.

He does snort at _not qualified_ though: "You went to Oxford, didn't you?" Rhetorical. He knows Jon's got a degree in something. And he's always seemed just- just _right_ for the position of Archivist. Tim had followed him to the Archives because he felt so — because _he'd_ wanted to support _Jon_ — because he'd felt they were _friends_. God.

"But yeah. Maybe I could've used some support," he agrees. "But now? Now I just want to leave," he says flatly, finally looking up at Jon. "I don't _want_ to die here, you know? But I can't quit, and when I think about what I'd have to do to get fired... well, I've considered a lot of stuff, but thing is, right, if it's bad enough you don't get fired, do you? You get - beaten to death with a pipe. And the only other option, well, you've pretty thoroughly cornered that market by the looks of it." Desert dry, his stare unflinching.

"So what kind of support can you offer me, boss. You going to promise I'll live to see thirty? To retirement?" A harsh chuckle. "Because I won't fucking believe you."

 

Jon's a little surprised at the question, rhetorical or not, and hesitantly walks over to take a seat on one of the breakroom chairs. 

"Tim, I can't promise you I'm going to survive the week, let alone say I have any way of keeping any of you safe," he knew Elias hated him saying that sort of thing but the threat of Nikola was still very real. He wondered if she'd go after the assistants if she couldn't get at him or Elias. The thought makes him push his glasses up and rub his eyes before continuing. "I know you don't want to hear this but I don't think there is any actual way to be fired or... well, freed. I'm not sure Elias could free you even if he thought to." They answered to a higher power on the chain of command, after all.

"I can-" he chuckles humourlessly and deeply tired, "I can offer you _information_ and that's about all. I want you to survive this, Tim. Please don't doubt that at least."

 

All the fight seems to go out of Tim at that, and he exhales softly. He can't believe that there's truly no way out — it's not _fair_ , it was just a _job_ , he didn't agree to this! But those are all thoughts he's had a million times before.

"You didn't seem like you cared about any of us," he says quietly. "Living or dying. But yeah, okay, I get it, you're sorry. Apology accepted. It's... not you I'm pissed off with, not really." He's not even sure pissed off is the word for what he is.

 

"I cared very much- care very much," Jon answers quietly back, pushing his glasses up to scrub at his face. Well, he got his apologies out and accepted and he still felt raw rather than relieved. Life was truly a bitch. 

He sucks in a breath against his palm before fixing his glasses back into place. "Who are you upset with? Elias, or... I don't know, one of the many monsters crawling out of the woodwork?"

 

"None of the above," he says, though then he tips his head, eyes narrowing. "I mean, not that I'm letting Elias off the hook. Guy's a psychopath. If you really want to apologize, you can buy me a drink and tell me what _that's_ like in the sack." Which isn't workplace appropriate conversation but Tim has clearly stopped giving a fuck about that.

 

" _Tim,_ " Jon has to admit he's glad for the comment and the old normalcy of it, even if it makes him square his shoulders. "Some of us don't kiss and tell, thank you. Anyway, then the Beholding, I imagine? I suppose these domains are the root of things." Yeah, change the topic to eldritch horrors rather than banging, typical.

 

That is very Jonathan. He'd sort of missed that, getting a rise. Better than Jon just looking grim all the time.

"Myself, mostly," he admits casually. "But sure, yeah, why not, _Beholding_. That's us, isn't it. Is there some big eyeball in a room in here somewhere?"

 

"Why?" Jon asks, genuinely baffled by the admission. Not that he couldn't relate, but Tim wasn't the one releasing Not!Thems or the like. 

"It's... I'm not sure what little I could do to explain it would help. But yes, 'that's us.' Believe it or not it's easily one of the least unpleasant of these domains as far as I can tell."

 

"Yeah, you would say that," Tim mutters. He wouldn't want to be Prentiss, sure, but there's other stuff that doesn't sound so bad, isn't being watched all the time and having to know about every terrible creepy thing that's happened in London.

"Look, I had a good job, all right. Before all this. I worked in publishing. It was fucked. CEO was probably more of a psycho than Elias. Office culture was stone cold ruthlessness or a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. But it was a good job. When I came here, it wasn't meant to be anything high pressure. Thought, sure, research, easy peasy, like being an undergrad again. But I can't even hack this work. Couldn't make it two minutes into reading a statement. It's all just pointless and terrifying and invasive and this is what I've stuck myself with until I'm killed."

 

"We at least aren't expected to feed people to their nightmares." Jon would take that over the rest any day. It didn't help, of course, that he did enjoy _knowing_ in a way that was likely unhealthy. He struggles with a pang of guilt- Tim really wasn't suited for this at all and he was the one who asked Tim to come with him. He couldn't have known, of course, but at least the others had some level interest in it all.

Speaking of knowing, Jon's fingers twitch with the need to find a recorder when Tim admits as much. He wants to ask for a statement, or pry further into the information Tim just offered, and it takes a moment to grapple with that instinct. He promised no recorders, after all. "I was always rather baffled by the fact you were here, in all honesty," he admits. "You never seemed to have a particular interest in the supernatural, or strong feelings one way or another." It was half his reasoning for stalking Tim before but, yeah, not saying as much.

"Would... going for a drink actually help?" He could not sound more stuffy and awkward. "To _vent_ or... something. That's typical for most workplaces, I imagine." He's trying.

 

Tim's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?" he asks, dubious, squinting at Jon. Judging whether he's been replaced by something; whether Tim would even know. He feels like Melanie would have said something. Maybe this is just a pleasant side effect of Jon getting laid on the regular. Maybe he's only being polite. "I mean, yeah. I haven't done in ages. The rest've all stopped inviting me. And you— Do you even drink?"

 

"I've been known to," it's not a lie, he had that whiskey at Elias' right. Aka no, he doesn't go out to drinks really. But he's apparently willing to make this horrible sacrifice. "Look Tim, if there's one thing I've learned it's having something outside this nonsense is key to feeling like it's worth getting up every morning, so... maybe this is a start. It's something you used to do, yes?"

 

"Yeah." Also, he cant deny that getting proper drunk sounds appealing. He just wouldn't have expected it to be with Jon. "All right. I'll pick the bar, thanks. I mean, I'd invite you 'round to mine but it's a mess." Hashtag depression.

 

"Yes, that's quite all right," Jon wasn't too sure about how comfortable inviting Tim to Elias' penthouse would be, if Elias was even all right with something like that. A bar would definitely do. "Elias told me he's working late, if you'd like to go after work. Good a time as any, I suppose."

Sorry Georgie, he'd have to bug you another time, he has bars to hit. Shocking development.

 

Tim gives a raw laugh. "Jesus," he says, mostly because of that offhand mention of Elias like he's a normal significant other to have. But: "Sure. Tonight after work. Are we inviting the others?" Honestly Jon could invite Georgie if he wanted, and that's a thing I didn't realize I could absolutely ship until right now thanks.

 

"If you'd like- lord, I suppose I could ask Georgie, since I was going to try and see her," Jon seems a little unsure about this. Georgie is great, yes, but he knew she'd have questions and that mixed with Tim and whoever else came would be... something. He clears his throat. "I'd like to invite her, if you don't mind."

He settles on this mostly because Georgie could play a good buffer for whatever stupid things he might say and ruin their truce. Worth it in the end, ultimately.

 

"Wait," says Tim, "Wait, hang on, do you have a friend that we don't work with?"

 

Jon immediately bristles. "I have _friends_ , Tim." Ok, even he knows how bullshit this is and reluctantly admits. "It- all right, fine, I hadn't actually seen her in years but when I was... temporarily without residence after all that unpleasant business before she allowed me to stay with her."

 

"Wow," says Tim, grins a little — a genuine grin. "Wow, yeah, do invite her then." He's weirdly proud of you, Jonathan Sims. A boyfriend (even if it's Elias) and a friend outside work, who even is this guy.

And then he abruptly feels sad that he didn't know any of this, and then sweepingly tired again. His smile goes brittle, and he rubs his face. "Anyway. Great talk, boss. I'll see you later, yeah." He's going to go see if Martin's gotten over his crushing heartbreak enough to come have drinks with them (spoilers, he has not.)

 

"Very well. I'll see you after work," Jon offers, the whiplash of Tim's mood leaving him uncertain of what to do besides head back to his own office. He makes a few texts there, one to Elias accusing him of knowing the awkward situation he has just led Jon to and informing him of his plans. The rest are to Georgie, mostly a back and forth of Georgie giving him a hard time for his radio silence, then giving him a hard time for not even having an idea of what bar they were going to. 

Poor Rosie's pasta salad remained untouched, and Jon had a very awkward encounter to assure her he enjoyed it very much, thank you Rosie, very thoughtful.

At the end of the day he considers going to see Elias before leaving but decides he'd rather not interrupt the man if he was so busy with meetings, instead sending a text of typical grumpy affection and heading to where Tim probably told him they were heading once he decided. When he reaches the entrance there's Georgie, who takes one look at him before laughing.

" _What_?" He asks as she covers her mouth and shakes her head.

"Jon you're... _debauched_." She finally manages, and Jon flushes before storming past her and into the bar. He needed alcohol already.

 

They catch the tube to Graphic bar, because it's got quality gin and it's quiet on a weeknight — Tim used to go there a lot, back when he left his flat for anything but work. Jon gets huffy and goes in, but Tim introduces himself to Georgie — "Timothy Stoker, longsuffering Magnus Institute employee." — and holds the door for her as they go in, find a quiet corner to sit. 

"Melanie said she might pop round later, but had something else on tonight," he tells them both as they settle. "Martin still hasn't really forgiven Jon for dating the big boss. Basira says she's trying to quit drinking. So it's just us, I think. Unless Elias is coming." He quirks an eyebrow at Jon, genuinely not sure if that's a possibility.

 

"Georgie Barker, your weird cult kept sending papers to my door without an address either way," Georgie answers, smiling when she enters and taking a seat at the table Jon choose. A more secluded on, surprising no one. "I have a podcast, What the Ghost. Oh, I also know all about monsters, you don't have to play coy like Jon does."

Jon rolls his eyes, focusing on Tim's comments. The mention of Martin makes him grimace, and he gives Georgie a look that says Don't Ask. The final bit makes him roll his eyes. "No, of course not. Or at least I doubt it." Elias did surprise him sometimes.

"Well I want to meet him," Georgie says, dropping the menu after a very short glance at the drinks. "You marry him and suddenly you're walking around like that and getting drinks after work with friends? I'd be pleased as punch if he wasn't a murderer and all."

 

Georgie Barker, who has a supernatural podcast and knows about monsters. You've got to laugh, really — she might not work for the Magnus Institute but it does seem Jon doesn't have friends not mixed up with everything after all. 

Still. Monsters aside, there's something really normal about this, and Tim finds himself relaxing before they've even bought the first round.

"Right?" Tim enthuses to Georgie as she teases, glad he's not alone in this thought. "I mean, who is this guy! This Jon Sims who actually goes out after work, where's he been for the last couple years, eh? If I'd known this is what you were like when you were getting seen to I would have offered."

 

" _Tim_ ," Jon starts and Georgie laughs.

"If only. When we dated we had plenty of sex but he was still uptight," she responds.

Jon is in hell. " _Georgie_ , do not encourage him."

"What? This is what drinking with friends is, Jon. You do not get to invite me to drinks looking like someone used you as a chew toy then play bashful," Georgie tuts.

Jon pushes his glasses up to rub his face. "I already regret this."

 

"Really, you and Jon? I've known you all of five minutes and I can already tell you're too good for him," Tim says with a flirty little half-smile. "But I have to agree. I want all the gory details. Which means I'm getting the first round, what are you having."

 

"Yeah, back in university. I should have known better, given when we met he made an audible scoff when I mentioned I was into ghost hunting," Georgie explains and Jon sighs.

"Well you know it's nonsense, even Melanie's willing to admit as much now."

"Yeah, and guess what Jon? Still an ass thing to say when you meet someone or, I don't know, ever?" Georgie retorts and Jon sinks in his chair because haha, yeah. She's right. She turns to smile at Tim though, conspiratorial and far too accepting of the flirting in Jon's opinion. "I'll have a rum and coke, we'll interrogate him when you get back."

"Whatever dark lager's on tap and no you will not," Jon complains, and when Tim leaves he levels Georgie a look. "You're flirting back."

"Uh, yeah? He's cute and flirting is fun even if it goes nowhere. Besides, isn't he the one who's all depressed now? You should be pleased."

"Well yes, I am but- the point is you get less involved with all this."

"And yet you ask me to come meet your coworker," Georgie rolls her eyes. "Relax, Jon. And get something stronger than a beer next round, you're going to need it."

 

Tim has that covered, though; he comes back with Georgie's drink and also two pints of Vienna lager and two shots of some smoky scotch. "We," he says, putting the drinks down off the tray like a man who was a bartender in college, "Are going to do boilermakers and you," he points at Jon, "Are going to spill the beans." He sits. "Ready?"

 

"Good man," Georgie says in approval as she takes her drink, and Jon just looks at the scotch with a furrowed brow.

"What on earth is a boilermaker? And If you think I'm going to let you two get me drunk you're absolutely mad."

Georgie rolls her eyes, pushing the shot towards him until he reluctantly picked it up. "Stop overthinking. You take the shot then chase it with the beer. Go on."

Jon makes a face but sighs and regards Tim with the most unimpressed look he can muster. He does do as he's told when it's time to take the shot though, coughing and making a face as he went for his beer. Georgie chuckled, taking a swig of her own drink.

 

Tim does not cough, but once he's sipped his beer he does laugh a little, watching Jon suffer through the burn of the shot. "They're supposed to pair nicely," he says, even though he suspects Jon didn't actually taste his liquor at all.

Still score one for the getting Jon drunk coalition that has now sprung up at this table. Tim can feel the warmth of his own whiskey spreading through his stomach, and he leans back on the high sofa that runs along two sides of the table, spreading his arms along the tops of the cushions, beer in hand.

"I can't decide," he admits, "If I want stories about what he was like as a university boyfriend, or stories about what dating Elias Bouchard is like. For context, Georgie, the man's a total suit. Plus the murder thing, obviously."

 

"Is he good looking at least? Jon, show me a picture," Georgie nudges him with her shoulder as he uses the beer to get what little scotch flavor he had in his mouth out. He swallows and gives her a Look. "What? Oh god, right, you're you. Why would you have a picture of your boyfriend on your phone like a typical person."

"I thought the point of this was to work through things, not harass me," Jon complains.

Georgie ignores him. "Let's wait for the alcohol to hit him a bit, shouldn't be long. Anyway, he was a nightmare. He missed at least four dates because he got caught up studying. I took him out to a bar once to meet some friends of mine and he nearly got beat up because he pestered someone telling a story at the bar to prove some points of his story."

"He was _lying_."

 

Tim doesn't have a picture either, but he says, "I s'pose, if you're into older guys, he's all right. Not bad looking by any means." A shrug, like he hasn't actively tried to get Elias to sleep with him in the past.

Anyway, he laughs at Georgie's story — and at Jon's huffy reaction, obviously. "Sounds about right," he says, a note of fondness in his voice. Sad feelings threaten to encroach; he drinks instead. "Hope you've gotten better taste since uni, at least."

 

"He told me you tried to seduce him," Jon points out, though to be fair he was pretty sure that had everything to do with freeing himself rather than any lust on Tim's part. That fact has him taking a long drink as he glances away.

"Lot of 'bad touch in the office,'" Georgie comments then shrugs. "I'd like to think so. Nothing stuck and it's a little hard to swallow that Jon's getting married before I am." She squints at Tim. "Do you like Hungarian?"

Jon stops feeling melancholy a moment to roll his eyes.

 

Tim chuckles awkwardly at the reminder, because yeah, that had had a lot to do with wanting very badly to get fired, the fastest way he knew how. But Elias had known exactly what he was up to, had told him it wouldn't free him but still left the sex on the table. Tim wonders if he told Jon that part, as well. He wonders if they'd been together when he tried. Jesus.

Fortunately, Georgie is here to serve as a buffer, just as she was invited for, and she quickly and unintentionally distracts Tim from picking a fight.

"Yeah, actually," he responds, leaning forward and thoroughly ignoring Jon. "There's this one restaurant, just up the road really, that's really good — the Gay Hussar. Goulash like you would not be _lieve_."

 

"Oh lord..." Jon mutters as Georgie's eyes light up.

"I _love_ their goulash. The stuffed cabbage though? To die for." Finally, Georgie found her people. Jon just sits back and lets it happen, both exasperated and glad Georgie was so good at distracting Tim from his own thoughts. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone to go with? I've had to resort to dire means."

"Like that _hiker_ ," Jon mutters yet again, though this time Georgie slaps at his arm. "Lord, just ask him to go with you already. You can enjoy unpleasant food together."

 

"Shut up, Jon," Tim says, and then immediately, because if there's one thing he knows how to do in life, it's this. "Would you like to, though? After this? Their kitchen's open 'til pretty late." So there's still plenty of time to torment Jon first, is what he means.

 

"That sounds perfect," Georgie agrees, and Jon squints at them. Before he can say anything Georgie says, "Drink. You don't have to come, don't get that look."

And his tension does ease a little at that. "Fine... I feel like I've made a monster." He does drink more of his beer, and will admit under threat of death that it went well with what little scotch he tasted. 

"I lied to the police for you, I'm practically a saint," Georgie answers without missing a beat.

 

Tim's going to drink his own beer, too, feeling the first new shoots of a kind of pleased smugness that used to be second nature. He watches them banter like it's an enjoyable tennis match. Though: "You lied to Detective Tonner?" he asks, quietly in awe. "That takes real balls."

 

"Tonner... yeah, that was it. Boy, she murder in her eyes, I'll tell you that. When she stared me down I got the feeling she was trying to decide whether little rules like needing a search warrant were more trouble than they were worth," Georgie nods, and Jon considers pointing out Georgie's inability to feel fear did make this sort of thing easier. He decides, wisely, to drink instead. "Isn't she working with you lot now?"

"Yes, in a way. Elias has blackmailed her into compliance at the moment." Which Jon was grateful for and also deeply concerned about at the same time. "She's quite useful to have around, as long as she doesn't try to cut my vocal chords out again." Talking about Daisy related violence definitely made it easier to drink at least.

 

Tim does jazz hands, but with only one hand because the other is holding his beer. Spirit fingers. "The Magnus Institute, ladies and gentlemen. Where your boss confesses to murder directly to an equally psycho police officer and then blackmails her into working for him."

 

"And you're marrying this guy," Georgie points out, then shakes her head when Jon shrugs helplessly. "Hopeless. Still not convinced this isn't just a cult."

She stands, her own glass empty. "Ok, getting refills- you want the same, Tim?" Jon doesn't get a say.

 

"Actually," says Tim, who had really only matched Jon's order in a successful attempt to peer pressure him, "I'll have a gin and tonic, thanks. Whatever the bartender thinks is a good G&T gin." He didn't pick a gin bar to drink whiskey, nice as it was.

Once she's gone, though, he turns to Jon. "Oh my god," is all he says, but it speaks volumes about what he thinks of Georgie. "If you don't shape up your wingman skills really fast, I'm reserving the right to get cross with you again."

 

"What?" Jon doesn't even know where to start with that. He could at least, quite easily, say this was not how he imagined this would go at all. "I do not _wingman_ , first of all. Second you've already got her to agree to dinner with you so I hardly see how I've done poorly in that job- that I don't have. Thirdly-"

What was even going on. He clearly hasn't thought of a thirdly so he sits there a moment before adding, "Thirdly I can't tell if this is a nightmare or a blessing in disguise. I'm leaning towards the former. You and Georgie... I should have known."

 

"You really should have," agrees Tim, because he hasn't been this immediately struck by liking someone in ages, and not just because he stopped using seduction as a research technique so he could put restaurants as a work expense. He's actually halfway to flustered she's so cool.

"You're okay with it though, right?" Tim asks, though he's pretty sure he'd do whatever he wanted regardless. "I mean, I know she's your ex. Which is so weird by the way, between this and Elias 'hot sugar daddy' Bouchard I am genuinely impressed. But I don't want to... look, just, if there's no problem, great. Say some nice things about me and don't get in my way." Because if he's succeeding so far it is definitely _despite_ Jon.

 

Jon looks surprised again, half because he wasn't expecting to be asked if he was _okay_ with this and half because Tim was acting more like himself than Jon's seen in a while. He almost laughs, brow raising instead. "Tim, I care very much for Georgie as a friend and know, without a shadow of a doubt, we were absolutely horrible in a romance. As long as you're good to her I have no complaints, and frankly she can take care of herself if you aren't."

Georgie chooses then to return, placing the tray down with a flourish and serving Tim his drink. "Here you go- and here's yours, Jon, try to actually taste the scotch this time."

Jon picks up his shot, rolling his eyes but then pausing. Fine. Say good things. He could do that. "Tim is excellent at research," he tries. "He- ugh, _lord_ this is vile-" yes, give him a moment to slam that shot then go immediately for his beer. Georgie pats his back in pity and amusement. "Anyway... he's also good at talking at length about nonsense that amuses most. You should have him on your show, that's typically the content, yes?"

 

"Oh my god," Tim says again in an entirely different intonation — he doesn't even really mean to say it out loud, it just sort of despairingly slips out. Yes, he wanted compliments, but like, naturally! Over the course of the evening! Jon!!!

"Thanks boss," he sighs, leans back in his seat again and looks at Georgie. "Don't believe him, though, I'm best consumed in person. Besides which, all my ghost stories are other people's. And true. And awful." He tries to sound light about it but there's a flicker of vulnerability — the world is a shitty place. "You should get Melanie on, though, I think she misses podcasting."

 

"Jon, just drink your beer," Georgie says, lips quirking when Jon huffs and mutters something to himself but does so. She glances to Tim, amusement still very much present, though it softens a little at that hint of something not so jovial.

"Yeah, I've talked to her about it but she's still- well, let's just say if she was a guest star people would listen to poke fun at her more than anything else." The problem with becoming a ghost hunting meme. Her lips quirk again, tone innocent. "And it would be a shame, you're a little too handsome for radio."

At the very least Jon's made it clear to her Tim's interested, so score one for useless shits.

 

Unlike some people whose name rhymes with Sonathan Jims, Tim knows he's pretty, and he doesn't fluster or blush, just gives a small smile, genuine rather than smug, eyes sparkling. "Thanks," he says, more genuine than the way he'd said it to Jon. "But if looks were a disqualifying factor, you'd be out of a job."

So there's that.

But there is plenty of time this evening to flirt with pretty, fearless Georgie, so Tim eases off the accelerator there and turns his attention back to Jon. "Are you drunk enough to talk about your boyfriend yet?" he asks. "When is the wedding, anyway?"

 

Georgie is also not a mess, so she just smiles, though a far more sincere than amused one. "That was pretty good, nice turn around," she gives him, and who would have thought she'd meet someone genuinely charming through Jon? Wonders never cease.

Jon seems mostly to be trying not to roll his eyes as they speak, warm from the alcohol and somehow surprised when Tim turns it back on him. Damn. "I... don't know. Soon?" He glances at Georgie, sensing her question and cutting her off. "No one is invited, thank you, because we're not having a traditional ceremony."

"You cannot be serious that I don't get to be your best man. Jon, lied to police, remember?"

Jon ignores her. "Not everything in our lives has to be a production, as difficult as that is to imagine."

 

"So you're eloping. Yeah, that's very you, actually," muses Tim. Kind of dramatic but doesn't include anybody else, Jon in a nutshell.

"How long has this been going on, anyway," Tim asks. "Like, did it start before he confessed to murder? Because I think that would've been a dealbreaker for me, personally."

 

"That makes it sound dramatic," Jon says stuffily, then hesitates a long moment as he tries to decide how to answer Tim's next question. Did they still need to keep up the whole lie? It didn't seem necessary, seeing as the point was to be legitimately together and... well, they were now. 

"Ah..." He stalls, sipping at his beer as Georgie put her chin in her hand. "It's... complicated."

"Answer the question, Jon. This isn't a facebook status," Georgie pushes and Jon frowns.

"Fine... it was after the murder, technically. Which I would have thought would be a dealbreaker as well, thank you, but the circumstances have been- it was just how things played out." He fiddles with his glass before giving up. "Look, do you remember statement- of course you wouldn't. Do you remember any of the statements we've done regarding the Lukas family? They're patrons of the Institute."

 

"0090404?" Tim says, because fuck you he's really smart and good at his job, or he was when he thought it was worth doing. "The space station. And there was another one, right, a dive — no, that was the Fairchilds. A boat? Point is, yeah, I know the guys you mean."

 

Whoa, look at that, Jon's impressed. If only Tim did his job, the Beholding would probably try to keep him around. (Yeah, he has to pause a minute when he realizes he just judged Tim's worth by his usefulness to the Beholding. He takes a long drink and nearly finishes his beer to deal with that fun one.)

"Yes, them. To make a very long story short they wanted me for some... binding ritual to a creature of their isolation based persuasion. Elias was displeased, I was extremely displeased, and the best way to handle it without anyone getting sold off was making sure I was already 'bound.'"

"Wait, wait," Georgie interrupts immediately, making Jon sigh. "Are you telling me you faked a marriage? This wedding isn't real?"

"We- at first it was less than truthful, yes. Elias was the best option, they couldn't just kill him to get their first choice. And as time went on we... it proved that we didn't need to lie. We decided to get married anyway. That's the entire story." Uh huh.

 

"Wait," Tim says, and he and Georgie probably have the same expression now, sort of a concerned disbelief. "So when was fake and when was real. I mean, you only told us about this last week, but that was because you decided to make it legit, right?" Right, Jon?

 

Jon needs alcohol badly. He finishes off his beer as Georgie squints at him.

"... Jon, was it real when you came and told me a few days ago?" she asks. Jon tries not to fidget.

"... No. It wasn't when I told you all either, Tim." Eyeball god save his soul. "Well, I suppose by that point we had- there was certainly a mutually acknowledged attraction at that point, yes. And a day or so after- _Georgie_."

Georgie has her arms crossed on the table and her face in them as she laughs.

 

Tim wants to laugh, and maybe he will in a moment because a Jonathan Sims whirlwind romance is ludicrous, but he's actually sort of concerned. "Are you okay?" he asks. "I mean, are you actually okay? I'm not just taking the piss here, Jon, if you — if he's forcing you somehow, like, if you agreed to the pretense and now you can't leave, we're here for you, right. You know that, right."

 

That shuts Georgie up far better than Jon's attempts do, making her pull her head up as Jon instantly raises a hand. "No, no, it isn't anything like that."

"Hey, if he's some all seeing cult guy would you even be able to say if it was?" Georgie asks, and Jon sighs deeply because... well she was right.

"I suppose but it _isn't_ anything forced, I swear. I genuinely... I care for him." Not drunk enough to throw around that L word yet. "And don't say Stockholm Syndrome, Georgie. I'm happy, all right? Happier than I've been in... lord knows how long and yes, I realize that's strange and probably morally reprehensible given the situation."

 

"No, I mean, you said it, right? That we've got to take our happiness where we can get it." Tim shrugs, apparently believes the reassurances enough to relax, both physically into his chair and back into cheekiness. "Less than a week though. Sex must be _really_ good."

 

"Yes, we do," Jon says in a tone that wishes he could accept that easily. He'll take that happiness, yes, but he'll never not overthink it. Thankfully Tim's comment has him back in fluster mode.

"Come on Jon, you're thirty and you've slept with most of the people here," Georgie says, patting his arm.

"That doesn't- no, I'm getting another round." The perfect escape, except he stands there a moment as the alcohol so far rushes to his head. Well. Still, not bad enough to put any sway to his step as he heads resolutely to the bar. Maybe you shouldn't skip lunch if you don't want to get drunk fast, Jon.

Georgie watches him go a moment before turning back to Tim. "You two haven't, right? Slept together."

 

"Hahanoooo," says Tim. He doesn't speak his first thought, which is that he wouldn't do that to Martin. "I make a point of not sleeping with my boss," he says instead, and then scratches behind his ear, wrinkling his nose— "All right, I did try to seduce Elias, he was right about that. But I was hoping he'd fire me, and he made it pret-ty clear that wasn't going to happen, so I didn't." He shrugs, finishes the last of his drink since Jon's gone to get another.

 

"Yeah, honestly the more I heard about this place the more I assumed things like workplace etiquette weren't really given much thought," Georgie shrugs, she gave up understanding the place as a normal one ages ago. It tended to make stupid bullshit like this wedding go down easier.

She twirls her mostly empty glass in her hands, quiet a moment before saying, "Hey, thanks for looking out for him, yeah? I know Jon's a right pain on a good day but he's a good guy. And before you say anything yeah, I know you two have been fighting up to this point. Melanie keeps me informed better than Jon does." She leans back, regarding him. "You're here now and all."

 

"I've worked at worse places, etiquette-wise," Tim admits. "I'll give Bouchard that, he does try to run us like a normal company, with proper policies." Except for not letting people leave. Except for how enduring the statements made people feel, and the stuff in Artifacts, and the dead bodies, it wasn't really for research, just some callous observer-god. Except for that. 

He sighs. Nods at her thanks, though he doesn't seem inclined to accept it. "He only got around to apologizing today. But it's not really his fault, is it. I just wish he'd... well, the drinks are a good start. Maybe I can get some of the others to come along, make a thing of it. We sort of stopped doing the social stuff."

 

"Might as well, if you're stuck in a bad situation you might as well commiserate," Georgie offers, probably far too nonchalant for the subject of 'we could all die being chained to an eldritch god's whims.' "Been trying to talk Jon out of playing the stoic martyr for a while now, least that seems to be working. As daft as it sounds you have each other at least, yeah? Not a lot of people rocked by this supernatural stuff can say the same."

And Jon comes back now, placing the tray down reclaiming his seat by making Georgie schooch over. "I remember why I don't like bars, why must everyone yell to communicate?"

 

"Thing is, if you whisper your order, they can't hear it," Tim teases. God, he hasn't felt this good in ages, though he suspects a big part of that is the alcohol.

 

"I take back what I said about your nonsense being funny," Jon answers immediately back, and the alcohol certainly helps him forget this being just like old times in a bittersweet way.

Georgie's kind, waits for Jon to take his shot, make his face at it then drink more beer before she asks, "So, did you sleep with him before or after you realized you had feelings?"

Jon stiffens, then admits in a surly tone, "... before."

 

Tim is already deeply amused by the fact that Jon bought himself alcohol that he clearly isn't enjoying, but that admission actually gets a loud and sudden laugh. "Jesus christ, Jon," he says. "So the sex really _is_ just that good."

 

"The feelings were _there_ , just... I hadn't realized," Jon tries, sitting back to sulk with his beer. "Are you both really going to just ask about my sex life? We aren't in university for god's sake."

"It's called gossiping, Jon, friends do it. It's a friend thing," Georgie tells him.

"It's a _nosy_ thing," Jon shoots back, and Georgie's not having it.

"You are the last person in the world to talk to me about being nosy, Jonathan Sims. I can start listing the nosy things you've done just when you were staying with me and have enough to write a novella, do you want to go there?"

"No," Jon answers petulantly, and then waits a long beat before admitting quietly to Tim. "Yes, it _is_ that good."

 

"Oh my god," Tim laughs, suddenly regretting asking, laughing into his hand. Like, he wants to know, because Jon's walking around looking like he is, but he also doesn't want to know. "Oh my god, well, good for you, boss, really. Don't make too many decisions you'll regret when the endorphins wear off."

 

"I know what I'm doing," Jon huffs, which makes Georgie laugh again and Jon glare at her. "I _do._ To some extent."

"I'm not even sure I want to know what you're talking about now, Jon," Georgie says when she catches her breath, patting his shoulder. "So wait, these Lukas people aren't going to try anything now? It's all good?"

"Mm, yes, at least Peter seems to think so," Jon answers, and when Georgie gives him an expectant look he quickly explains. "He's one of them, the captain of the Tundra Tim, if you remember that statement as well. We... convinced him." Haha. Boy did they.

 

"Yes, I'm sure you were very _convincing _," Tim teases. "I mean, you certainly convinced me. The marks, for one thing — and you were _making out_ in your office." He laughs softly. "I'm glad you're not being forced into some ritual, though I admit, if it got me out of work, I'd consider volunteering." He sounds like he's joking. He's not.__

__

__"Ugh, he didn't even warn me about that!" Jon answers, guess who's definitely a bit drunk now. "That was before all the _feelings_ , before we even kissed properly for god's sake, and that smug bastard just- just does _that_ so you'd walk in and I'd look 'properly walked in on.' He said that, 'properly walked in on,' with a smirk of course."_ _

__Georgie is laughing into her hands as Jon just huffs his way through that and continues. "And no you do _not_. Peter is more smug than Elias somehow and far more shameless. I swear, hearing someone go on and on about how we're all ultimately alone in the end and nihilistic nonsense while smiling cheekily-" he apparently doesn't even have the words for that. "'You'd thank me, Archivist,' like hell I would. He couldn't even make his statement in one neat recording, had to do it through three separate times and one without the recorder during- well nevermind."_ _

__

__"During what," says Tim, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, because he's pretty sure Jon is flushing and the way he talks about this Peter guy isn't so far from the way he's been talking about Elias, and this is so much more information than he needed about his boss's personal life and yet he's so goddamn gleeful about all of it. "Jonathan _Sims_ , during _what_."_ _

__

__Georgie picks up as soon as Tim asks again, looking just as gleeful. " _Jon_."_ _

__"During nothing!" Jon tries, apparently not drunk enough to flat out state as much but given he's red as he can be it's probably obvious. When Georgie just leans in with a shit eating grin, refusing his attempts to push her away he finally gives up. " _Fine_ , during... you know. Activities."_ _

__" _Activities_. Jon, did you have a threesome?" Georgie is trying so hard not to laugh her shoulders shake._ _

__Jon, meanwhile, is reconsidering the whole call the Buried god for a tag in thing. " _Maybe_. Perhaps. I... well, is it a threesome if one party more... watches than- nevermind. Nevermind. I hate you both."_ _

__

__"That is definitely still a threesome," Tim says, and then, because nothing's going to escape this sharp mind: "You took a _statement_ while you were having sex?" Because honestly. He's not about to judge Jon's number of partners, even if he's maybe judging his choices a little, but that's definitely a level of weird that has him wondering all sorts about what he and Elias get up to. Like, they wouldn't even need to do office roleplay, Jon literally works for the man. He's dying. "Right, well, I'm definitely never calling you uptight again."_ _

__

__"Oh my god," Georgie draws the word out, taking a moment to just laugh before taking a deep breath. "Wait, did you do that question thing you do now?"_ _

__"Compulsion, and yes. _Look_ , I was just- I didn't understand why he wanted to, he's an isolation obsessed zealot! I wanted to make sure he wasn't... I don't know, doing it as part of some nefarious plan- stop laughing, Georgie! - or to get at Elias."_ _

__" _Nefarious threesomes_ ," Georgie wheezes. After a minute she shakes her head. "Man, I wish I had known threesomes were on the table when we were together. Why didn't you tell me?"_ _

__Jon just buries his face in his hands._ _

__

__Nefarious threesomes. Tim is laughing so hard at this point he think his eyes might leak a little. He recovers as best he can, pats Jon's shoulder lightly. "All right. All right. That's enough, I think, boss. You're so very, very drunk." God, he's so happy, he's going to have material to tease Jon for just, years. Having Georgie to gossip with is also brilliant, even if he wasn't nursing a spark of interest there. "Do you want me to call you a taxi?"_ _

__But Jon has a text from Elias already, offering to come pick him up when his evening out is concluded._ _

__

__"I can call my own taxi," Jon answers, trying for indignant and getting sulking instead. When he notices the text from Elias he texts back a yes, and the name of the bar. It takes him far too long to get it typed out correctly and he starts to suspect Tim may be right._ _

__When Georgie presses about the taxi he tells her Elias was picking him up, something she isn't content with until he rolls his eyes and shows her the text. "What can I say Jon, you're a bit of a degenerate now," she teases and laughs when he gives her the sourest look possible. Given he then goes on to ask how the Admiral was doing it's not particularly impressive of a look._ _

__When he gets the text he can come out he makes his goodbyes, mostly typical sniping with Georgie though he pauses when he turns to Tim. "I ah... I'm glad we're... better," he manages before nodding and escaping out and to Elias' car._ _

__Tim isn't too surprised by this awkward farewell, and if he has anything to say about it he keeps it to himself. (Jon's apology mightn't have done much but introducing him to Georgie has gone a long way to making him feel like himself again, and he takes her to dinner. He's almost a perfect gentleman, except for how he sort of just wants to gossip about Jon for a large part of their meal. Easier than talking about himself, at any rate.)_ _

__

__Jon slumps into the front seat with a sigh. "Elias, I think I'm a little drunk." Hm._ _

__

__Elias has done his best not to eavesdrop outside of occasionally checking in, but he isn't remotely surprised by this admittance — why else would he have come to pick Jon up._ _

__"I think that's probably the point of going to a bar," he points out, glancing to check Jon's done his seatbelt up before he pulls out from the kerb. "Did you have a good evening, at least?"_ _

__

__"I think so," Jon answers, irritated at the seatbelt because he wanted to rest his head on Elias' shoulder and it made that difficult. He gives up with a huffed breath. "I think I may have inadvertently set Georgie and Tim up. Also they kept wanting to gossip about our private affairs. It was terrible."_ _

__He seems pretty at peace despite that statement, even if he was useless at helping Tim feel better Georgie would be able to. That was something. "I think they believe we're _kinky_. Are we? One threesome doesn't make a couple kinky, does it?"_ _

__

__Elias chuckles softly, shoots Jon a fond look before returning his eyes to the road. "You have a safeword," he points out._ _

__

__Jon considers this with a frown. "I have a safe _hand signal_ , but I suppose you're right." He couldn't deny that, and after a beat of consideration he shakes his head. "Is taking a statement during the act kinky? I mean compulsion with you rather is, with how you react. I can't believe I didn't realize you were... interested before all this, you described it as 'your lovers lips being pressed against bare skin.' Hindsight is 20/20 I suppose."_ _

__

__Elias is determined to obey the laws of the road but he's very glad that they really only live a suburb or two away from Soho, because he wants to be having this conversations significantly more face to face._ _

__"Unexpectedly," he corrects, mouth twitching a little. "The unexpected kiss." Absolutely not denying how long he's been interested. "But do remember, you're an Archivist. Your human friends won't understand, of course. If they decided to play at compulsion and statements in the bedroom then of course that would be — unusual. For you it's just inherent. Another way to gain and give pleasure."_ _

__

__Jon's brow furrows, "And yet I kept doing it afterwards. I mean I _knew_ , I don't forget things, I never do. I kept doing it." Good point, Jon, hm indeed. _ _

__And Elias has a point there, it was impossible to explain to them what taking a statement was like and the natural urge to do so. There was something comfort in the explanation, as troubling as it was. "But you're the only one who enjoys it- at least as far as I've seen." And he considers, drunkenly, for a long moment. Drunk Jon apparently meant he forgot to keep his thoughts in his head half the time. "I'm very glad for that, that it's not just... just some monstrously terrible power to strip people of their secrets. 'The unexpected kiss'... and you really do have the loveliest look at it."_ _

__

__They come to the parking garage, and Elias steers them smoothly home, stops the car. "You were terrified of me," he says without any particular judgement in his inflection. "But you still wanted me."_ _

__Then he gets out of the car and comes around to the passenger side to subtly assist Jon getting out as well. Catches and kisses him, hand firm on his waist, tasting the remnants of beer and whiskey. Smiles when he pulls back. Now who has the loveliest look. (Jon, it's Jon.)_ _

__

__"I thought you were going to kill me," Jon admits, not sheepishly because he's too drunk to be sheepish right now. "I didn't want to learn more about compulsion but I did, and you were... are the only one who isn't disgusted by it, or angered. Or maim me." In bad ways, at least._ _

__Jon takes that helping hand, making a soft sound when suddenly he's being kissed and- oh, this was acceptable. More than acceptable, really, highly encouraged in fact. He clutches Elias' arms, wanting to go in for another kiss but Elias is smiling, and joke's on you that's a lovely look too. Jon's still a little awed by it even now, reaching up to trace the curve of it. "You're the only one who just... likes me instead of tolerates me. Compulsion and elsewhere. You're quite... you're lovely."_ _

__

__" _Loves_ you," Elias corrects him, Jon's fingers against his mouth as he speaks. He nips them lightly. "You really are very drunk," he says fondly, "Come on." No more carpark kissing, he's just going to escort Jon to the lift._ _

__

__"I'm not that drunk," Jon protests, even if he lets Elias lead him and yes, leans on him a little. When they get in the lift he sets to pressing kisses to Elias' neck, tugging at Elias' collar as it dared to get in the way. He flat out ignores the lift when it opens them to their penthouse, too busy nipping a mark into Elias' neck._ _

__He pulls back to smile slightly. "I'm allowed to do this," yeah, that's more thoughts slipping through, the still somewhat awed realization that this was normal._ _

__

__"You are," Elias agrees, and he's actually a touch overwhelmed at how terribly endeared he is by Jon right now, drunkenness and nippy teeth and all. God help him. A firm palm at the small of Jon's back guides him out of the lift, and he flips on the lights._ _

__"Do you want some water?" he asks, but it's not really an optional suggestion, they're already going to the kitchen so Elias can get him a glass. He always seems to find keeping Jon hydrated to be of the utmost importance. "For my part, maybe I'll have an actual drink. Try to catch up."_ _

__

__"Don't have scotch and beer, it's terrible," Jon complains, and though he doesn't agree to the water he does go to the kitchen without complaint. "You're always getting me water, it's... ridiculous and sweet."_ _

__Jon's fine with being Elias' weird houseplant apparently, and takes the glass when offered. Even drinks readily from it, and wonders, "What are you like when you drink too much?"_ _

__

__"Philosophical," Elias says, "And perhaps a little handsy." Also drinking relaxes him, or the human parts of him, soothes them to the side, which is why he does it so much. He pours himself a scotch just to be contradictory, though no beer, and returns to lean against the counter alongside Jon without actually touching him._ _

__

__Jon immediately slips closer without thinking about it, letting his arm press against Elias' as he takes in this new information and sips his drink. Apparently the thought of it makes him smile, small but amused. "And what philosophy would a man who's seen hundreds of years be? Please not nihilistic, Peter's run that to the ground quite well on his own."_ _

__

__"I consider myself more deterministic," Elias says. The old arrow-to-a-target argument again, cause and effect. He leans over and nuzzles Jon's cheek lightly. "But I'm more interested in what _you're_ like when you're drunk. Certainly a little less reserved."_ _

__

__"I'm hardly drunk," Jon insists like a true drunk person. "I am in complete control of all my inhibitions, thank you. Far too old to be getting drunk at pubs anyway."_ _

__Mhm. "And, since you aren't seeing my drunken state... I suppose I'll answer you. Georgie says I'm chatty, when I'm drunk. I think out loud and get... _affectionate_." He makes a face like this is an insult. "I'm not sure her accounts can be trusted."_ _

__

__"Oh, of course, far too old," says Elias, humouring his drunk ass. Chatty and affectionate does seem to be the order of the day, and Elias sort of likes it, these aspects of Jon that usually get repressed behind fear and shame. Makes him wonder what he'd be like if he truly did start to lose his humanity._ _

__"I feel as though Georgina is likely to know best," Elias says, resting a hand on Jon's chest. "Does she still think I'm a cult leader?"_ _

__

__"Hmm, I think so? She's upset you got a threesome and she didn't- oh, and also that she isn't allowed at the wedding," Jon explains, resting his head on Elias' shoulder like he wanted to when he first got into the car. He's very pleased with this decision, and considers the night a success._ _

__"She's not convinced you aren't forcing me to marry you, which is ludicrous on many levels. I think she largely jokes about you because she knows she should be frightened, for me and for herself, but can't. Must be a strange feeling, the understanding of fear but the lack of it." He considers for a long moment. "At least she'll never be afraid of me."_ _

__

__"Well, she's welcome to a threesome now," says Elias with an undercurrent of amusement — Jon had allowed Elias' ex into their bedroom, after all, and Georgina was a far less intimidating prospect, albeit not his usual type. He's fairly sure she wouldn't be interested, either way, but it's fun to let Jon think about it._ _

__

__"What?" Jon pulls back, like this is somehow a shocking suggestion despite the whole Peter situation. Then he considers it, a moment, frowning and shaking his head. "No... no she wouldn't agree and I don't think I would either. I mean she's very- very lovely, of course, but..."_ _

__He struggles a moment with why 'but.' He's not even sure outside of a kneejerk reaction. "I don't know why, actually. Huh."_ _

__

__"You don't have to know why," Elias reassured him, even knowing that's a pointless thing to say to an Archivist. "Just the no is enough for me." He reaches up and strokes his fingers through Jon's hair over his ear. "Besides, as open as I am to any proposals you might want to make when it comes to a third, I don't mind having you all to myself."_ _

__And then, returning unerringly to something Jon said earlier, fingers still just petting him lightly. "Did you really think I was going to kill you?"_ _

__

__Yes, this will bother Jon now, and he frowns as he tries to figure it out even as he leans into the touch. "I think... I don't want you two to ever truly get to know one another, because- because there's no way it can end well, is there? No, it's better this way." Keep those two aspects of his life separate, because- "I'm going to have to choose one day, aren't I?"_ _

__One day they'll find another third, maybe. Tim failed us somehow in that regard. Now Elias' question is more interesting though, and he answers it simply. "Yes. Why wouldn't you? I'm not doing as well as Gertrude would, and unless training a new Archivist would take too long it would likely be better to cut your losses at the first sign of failure and start again."_ _

__

__"I'm almost offended you think I'd kill over such petty reasons," Elias says, not really sounding all that offended. "I put off killing Gertrude until I really couldn't any longer and it almost cost me the Archives — I knew nearly the day I hired you that you'd be a suitable enough replacement, and I still waited another four years."_ _

__

__"Yes, but... if I can't measure up in time to handle the Unknowing, wouldn't that be as good a reason as any?" Jon should probably be more concerned about this line of conversation, but he's happily fixated on the logic of it rather than the implications. "There's clearly a deadline, somewhere... I don't doubt it would hurt you deeply to do so but I have no delusions that you would ever choose me over the Eye or the Institute."_ _

__Now, would Jon choose Elias over the lives of others and his own humanity was the question._ _

__

__"If you can't handle the Unknowing, darling, we'll all die," Elias says reassuringly(?). "Your deadline is the ceremony. Finding the page first postpones that deadline indefinitely, but if you don't you'll still need to stop the Stranger. It will just be harder, cost more. But I fully believe you're up to the task." Because his backup plans are scant, frantic, terrible things._ _

__"But I don't want to talk about this." Being a little clearer than usual instead of just dodging just because Jon is drunk and stupid. "You're not going to die, and that's the end of it."_ _

__

__Jon chuckles, even though the sheer responsibility of that makes him shiver. He was in no way equipped to have the fate of the world on his shoulders, thanks, he was still trying to just figure out his romantic life and how to balance his work and personal life. He'll gladly try and wildly focus on something else._ _

__"I was genuinely surprised you seemed offended the first time I assumed you would kill me. I suppose another matter hindsight makes clearer." It's extremely ridiculous he finds Elias' indignation at assumptions he would kill Jon or let him die endearing. A good couple. "All right, then what do you want to talk about, Elias?"_ _

__

__"We could go back to you telling me how lovely I am," Elias says, mouth twitching slightly. He's not entirely serious, but he obviously had enjoyed that, and certainly a lot more than Jon mistrusting him. He steps away from touching, puts his empty glass down. "Come on," he says, "Let's go lie down." (He's forgotten about food again.)_ _

__

__How do these two meatsacks keep their fleshcars working, a real question for our time. Jon nods, placing his glass aside as well. He's not particularly helpful getting to the bedroom, not stumbling or anything too ridiculous, just more interested keeping contact than walking. When they do get there he sits down, quieter than his chattiness allowed for most of the evening._ _

__He regards the floor for a serious moment, looking up at Elias a beat after. "Can we get married sooner rather than later?"_ _

__

__Jon sits, and Elias leaves him there to get undressed for bed, but pauses at the question with his shirt half unbuttoned, barefoot and startled. "How much sooner," he asks, when what he actually wants to know is _why_._ _

__

__"When it's reasonably possible to have it happen," Jon answers, watching him as he toes off his shoes. "I'll admit, I'm not entirely sure what it will entail besides signing papers, if you'd like to take time afterward, things of that nature."_ _

__

__"We have another two weeks' notice," Elias says, making himself continue to get undressed, "And we'll need a witness when we sign the registry, which I can provide if you really don't want to invite anyone." A shrug. "Everything else is optional. If you want to honeymoon I'll take you anywhere you want to go."_ _

__

__Jon nearly rolls his eyes. "Yes, well what would _you_ want, Elias? It's your wedding too, you realize." Never too drunk to be a bit pissy it seems. He lies back on the bed, in his work clothes like the useless bastard he is. "I would like to have some time with you, somewhere. But that's not reasonable, is it? We've wasted enough time with all this Lukas business. Have to save the world and all that."_ _

__

__"I just want you to be mine," admits Elias, comes over in just his briefs to straddle Jon's lap and start unbuttoning his shirt, too. "Everything else is irrelevant." But he pauses and smooths a hand over Jon's bare chest. "Perhaps in two weeks you'll be done saving the world."_ _

__

__Jon's look softens at that. "Damnit, you would say something like that. You already have me." He rests his hands on Elias' hips, watching him surprisingly intently for a drunk man. Scotch and beer had nothing on the Beholding._ _

__"I'm very afraid, you know. All the time, really. I don't know how you can say things like that and mean them, I have no idea what I'm doing and-" he frowns, reaches up and cups Elias' jaw as best he can reach. "I can't help think things but 'we should do this before the world ends.' Georgie acts like it's all a joke half the time and you act like it's a foregone conclusion we'll figure it out. Tim would probably just sleep through the next month and Martin-"_ _

__He sighs. "Georgie lied, I'm turning into a depressing drunk. If I was actually drunk, that is."_ _

__

__Elias dips to let Jon catch his face, leans a hand on the mattress next to his head. "First time's always the hardest," he says quietly, hair flopped forward, eyes soft. "You're new to all this, I know. But I do believe in you, Jon, so I'm not afraid. You're going to finish all of this business with Orsinov, and then I'm going to take you to the world's most tritely romantic places and spend far too much money and give you all the sex and stories your greedy little Archivist heart could desire. All right?"_ _

__

__Jon doesn't believe that, and imagines Elias knows he doesn't, but sometimes it was just nice to hear. He nods even though he doesn't believe it, at least most of it, he's sure Elias would happily spend way too much money and be trite and wonderful in his way._ _

__He reaches up to brush at that flopped hair. "All right. I'll hold you to that. If you're right I'll even refrain from commenting on your smugness about it."_ _

__

__"Somehow I doubt that," Elias says dryly, because who would they be if Jon wasn't always calling him a smug prick._ _

__"Now," he says, deciding that's quite enough talk of the apocalypse, and sitting back, getting to his feet. "Let's get you out of the rest of these, shall we?" Since Jon is all rumpled and half-undressed. Elias sets to work unbuckling his belt, pulls off his trousers and then runs his hand from Jon's ankles all the way up to his hips._ _

__

__Jon shifts to help with the process, shivering at the long path of Elias' hand reaching his hips. He feels very warm from the alcohol still, sitting up himself a tad clumsily to trace the now familiar scar on Elias' stomach._ _

__"I thought we were supposed to be laying down?" He sounds slightly petulant that Elias moved away to stand._ _

__

__Elias laughs at that, because Jon is still at the edge of the bed. Pushes his shirt off his shoulders, since he's sat himself up again, discards it, palms his shoulders with the same reverent touch. "All right," he agrees, "Yes." Climbs onto the bed and crawls up to tug the covers down in a bunch, then collapses there dramatically, limbs splayed. "Like this?" he asks, lifting one hand behind his head like he's an underwear model._ _

__

__God damnit Elias Bouchard. Jon tries to smother laughter, even if he wasn't possessed by the drink he'd probably be unable to help himself. "You're absurd," he says it like an endearment and it is, eyes bright with mirth and fondness and a great many things he usually tries to repress like the good British boy he is._ _

__He crawls over to straddle Elias' hips, completely missing the 'lay together' bit he was complaining about before to look down at him with satisfaction. "This isn't a terrible view, really, handsome ass that you are."_ _

__

__"We need to work on your compliments," Elias says, flushed a little at suddenly being pinned, hands lowering to palm Jon's thighs, running over them for the soft tingle of texture, thumbing up his soft inner thighs. There's a fading mark there that he doesn't distinctly remember making, and he circles it lightly, idly._ _

__"Though I could say the same," he says, because he's stupidly into Jon from the scars on down. "This is an excellent view."_ _

__

__"My compliments are sincere and, most importantly, entirely true," Jon answers, shivering a little at that mark. Even if Elias didn't remember the moment Jon did, excellent memory and all. Sometimes it was a blessing. "You are a complete ass, but you are a very, very handsome one."_ _

__He's glad to drop the gloom of before, sweep it under the rug for this floating sort of contentment that came with contact and a few drinks. He regards Elias curiously before shifting slightly, grinding down in an experimental sort of way and flushing himself. "Interesting..." He murmurs. For science and all that._ _

__

__Jon shifts and Elias laughs a little helplessly, low and almost like a groan. "Interesting indeed." His wandering hands reach Jon's boxers and he tugs them petulantly. "I really should have divested you of these, too," he murmurs with regret._ _

__

__"I suppose even you can't plan everything," Jon answers, being pointedly unhelpful in removing any offending boxers. His at least, he shifts forward enough he can turn and slip his hand under Elias' boxer briefs, his other hand braced on Elias' chest as he shifted his torso. He's flushed in embarrassment but too drunkenly intent on his curiosity, typical reserve and second thoughts unacknowledged._ _

__He grips Elias' cock when he reaches it, huffing an impatient breath as he tries to push the boxer briefs aside to properly release him._ _

__

__Elias sucks in a breath at Jon's forward exploration, the warmth of his fingers. He lifts his ass, Jon's weight and all, and uses his own hand to tug his underwear down to his thighs before relaxing again. This time he tucks both his hands behind his head, even though he wants to keep touching Jon._ _

__"Interesting," he murmurs, eyes bright behind sandy lowered lashes. He's responding, of course, thickening in Jon's hand, and he doesn't move to do anything but let him explore._ _

__

__Jon's pleased by the help there, humming in approval as he runs a thumb over the head of Elias' cock, grips it with the strength he remembers Elias preferring. He explores simply for a moment, brow furrowed in probably comical concentration and neck craned to watch his work a moment longer before he looks back to Elias._ _

__"Keep your hands there," Not an order but a request, and one he apparently feels Elias may listen to without any further pleading. He releases Elias and turns fully back, putting a hand flat on Elias' chest as if holding it there. "I want... to watch you. Your reactions. You have no idea, do you? I'm sure you think you do, but you can't. You're so- _composed_ , so well hidden, seeing you like this is very- it's mine. I want it to be mine."_ _

__He spreads his fingers a moment before shifting to crane for the bed stand drawer and the bottle of lubricant that sure is getting more use than probably originally intended. He nearly slips with how much he has to crane for it, letting out a breathless laugh as he pulls back. "Lord, I'm too far gone, aren't I? I want to catalogue it all. I want to experience it."_ _

__

__Despite the instruction, Elias brings one hand out of position to catch Jon's waist as he stretches for the nightstand, stops him from tumbling down. He's somewhere between fascinated and aroused by all this initiative-taking, by Jon apparently taking charge. Elias doesn't fight it; once Jon is sat upright again he puts his hand back where it was, compliant — and still fairly composed._ _

__"All of me is yours," he says easily. All the parts of him that are him, and the rest doesn't so much belong to Beholding as holds and contains it. "I am also curious," he admits, "As to what you plan to do to me to elicit these reactions you're so interested in." Though he's plenty hard just from Jon's hand on him, pupils blown, breath visibly faster._ _

__"You moved," Jon tells him bluntly, though he doesn't seem like he's going to do anything about that, likely out of gratitude for being saved from falling to the floor. He does stop to consider Elias' comment a moment. "I don't know. I don't have a lot of experience, really, not much of a well to draw upon as it were._ _

__"I could try to use my mouth, but then I couldn't see you quite as well. I'd likely need your guidance for anything penetrative on your end, I refuse to to make a mockery of that by fumbling through it otherwise." This would be dirty talk, and sort of is, if you think stating these things like they were simply frank and understandable truths was hot. Elias is a weird kink man so who knows. He leans over, almost conspiratorially, and murmurs, "I do have an idea, not particularly inspired but... appealing. Also somewhat new, for me, so we'll have to call it something of an experiment."_ _

__

__This is about as close to dirty talk as he thinks Jon gets outside the heat of the moment, unless he counts the compulsion, so Elias likes it less because he has some kink for this kind of euphemistic frankness and more just because it's Jon. Jon talking through his options, honest and thoughtful and still sort of prim about it._ _

__"I'm open to experimentation," Elias replies, but then he moves again, this time doing something like a sit-up to lift himself up and kiss Jon where he's bent over him, catch his face and hold there for a long moment, licking into his mouth. He drops back once he's done, hands returning to their places, smirking a little like he knows he's a disobedient wretch._ _

__

__Jon presses into that kiss, fingers curling against Elias' chest until it's over and Jon has to remember to be disapproving of the action. He fixes Elias with a look that's ruined by the quirk of his mouth or how he licks his lips afterwards. "Absolutely impossible."_ _

__He shifts back though, raising to try and remove his own boxers finally. It is not an elegant process, but when he's managed he's very much flushed and hard and pulled back to straddle Elias' hips as he pops the cap of the lubricant. "I want to hear you as well, now that I think of it. What would you like me to do? What do you enjoy the most? Why?" Shock of shocks, a thread of compulsion there, though it's clearly more because of a drunken lack of control than intent._ _

__

__Elias probably shouldn't laugh at Jon undressing, but he can't help it, he's just — endearingly clumsy in his drunkenness. It's fond laughter, at least. The urge to touch Jon rises, but this time he just ignores it, flexes his fingers and keeps his hands where they are._ _

__He's rewarded with that ripple of compulsion, and his eyes close completely for a moment. He hums, vibrato, as much pleasure as consideration. "I wouldn't want to derail these mysterious plans," he murmurs, grinds his hips up slow and dirty against Jon. "I do like how bossy you're getting."_ _

__That probably isn't surprising, given Elias has made it clear he likes it every which way. "Hm, what do I enjoy the most. It's different with you, you know. You've taught me a lot about how good gentleness can feel. So as much as I like it fairly rough — I think my answer is kissing." He's looking at Jon now, smiling a little, unabashed. "Is that too terribly vanilla? I feel as though I should be talking a little dirtier, since you won't let me use my hands."_ _

__

__That gives Jon pause, lips quirking hopelessly at the answer. "Incredible, you never cease to surprise me. Shameless one moment, sweet the next." He leans over, unable to reach Elias lips of course but more than capable of kissing his stomach, the bare skin there and then the edge of the scar. He runs his hand over the spot then pushes himself back up, fondness still tugging at his lips._ _

__"I've only ever wanted your honest answers, you know, so speak any way you'd like." He pours some of the lubricant on his hand, wrapping it around Elias' cock and sliding up slowly. "Kissing... hm, I do enjoy that as well. I believe I'd have to pick being held, holding- all of that. The right to touch you in such a way." He bows his head, shaking it with the same smile. "Maybe we aren't so ah... kinky after all."_ _

__

__"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Elias laughs, fond. He watches Jon's hand on him for a moment, lips parting slightly at the tight, slick sensation, the crackle of lube. Makes a low ah noise as he crests the top, eyes closing again._ _

__Not participating is killing him a little, despite how nice Jon's attention is, so he keeps talking. "My next favourite thing is — blood," he says, trying to keep the breathlessness from his voice, the jump of his abs and pulse of his cock in Jon's hand giving his lack of of composure away. "Which isn't exactly safe kink. And I liked it so much when you cried. I think if I ever tie you up it won't be to use you, just to rim and suck and _tease_ until you do so again." _ _

__His eyes open, gaze heated. "Really, if I could only ever use my mouth on you for the rest of our lives I'd still be a happy man." And Jon would get a lot of good morning blowjobs presumably._ _

__

__There was Elias, going from sweetness to blood without batting an eye. Jon's already flushed, watching Elias closely, smoothing a hand over his abs when give Elias away even slightly. He's rather impressed Elias hasn't given in and moved his hands yet, rewarding the effort as best he could with his stokes. That little _ah_ makes him bite his lip._ _

__He swallows as he releases Elias, crawling up him just a little farther, straddling his waist. "Only you could make tears and blood sound so appealing," he murmurs, grabbing the bottle again and dripping more over his already slick fingers. He leans down to kiss him, not entirely gentleness and sweetness but a little messy and warm. When he pulls back it's with effort, accidentally getting lubricant over Elias' chest when he used his hand to brace himself._ _

__"I would very much like all of that, I think. For now though I want to try- I think the crass term is riding you? Do you believe you'll be able to keep your hands to yourself?" Wow, compulsion city again. He's only a little hesitant as he reaches down and behind, spreading his legs wider to circle a slick finger around his hole. His other hand digs into Elias' chest, not enough to hurt just yet but enough to leave faint nail marks. "Sometimes I would... indulge in this when I took care of myself. It's been a long time though," he exhales as he finishes the statement and presses a finger in, eyes fluttering shut._ _

__He opens them quickly though to meet Elias', embarrassed but endlessly curious to see what he'd do next, when he might crack or change his mind._ _

__

__Elias is watching him intently — his face, rather than anything lower, apparently as intent on cataloguing all of Jon's expressions as Jon is his. "That's a lovely thought," he murmurs._ _

__Is he going to keep his hands to himself? He doesn't answer because he isn't sure, his tendency to be a bratty asshole when given instructions coming up squarely against his desire to give Jon anything he wants._ _

__"Jon," he says, something soft in his tone. He does move his hands, but just to cup his jaw, reaching up with both of them and stroking down to his shoulders and back up again. "Let me have this much, at least," he murmurs almost reproachfully, because it's torture, to watch Jon pressing into himself and not be able to take over and open him up, or just touch himself while he watches._ _

__

__Jon is not Peter, fortunately and unfortunately in some cases, and whatever drunken resolve he has to make Elias keep passive splinters easily. He turns his head to kiss at Elias' palm, gasping against it when he curls his finger just so. He closes his eyes before adding another, taking a moment before he can answer much more breathlessly than before._ _

__"All right... negotiating even now," he sounds amused, and when he speaks again the compulsion is once again woven in so finely he can barely recognize the pull of it. "Are you enjoying this?"_ _

__

__Elias' fingers slide across to drag over Jon's lower lip, then press into his mouth like he can hear the compulsion physically against his skin. "You drive me absolutely mad," he tells Jon seriously, two fingers pressing over Jon's tongue._ _

__"I admit, that's the one thing I regret we didn't do while we had Peter at our disposal," he murmurs, as though Peter was ever truly at anyone's disposal. "Filling you up with my cock and watching you groan around someone else's." He withdraws his fingers, painting Jon's lower lip with saliva before dropping his hands back besides his head._ _

__"I do so love watching you," he murmurs, which probably answers Jon's question about if he's enjoying it, for all he keeps taking liberties._ _

__

__Jon closes his lips around them without thinking, sucking softly, taking from what Elias taught him only a day before. A great perk of alcohol is how he shivers instead of overthinking the action, enjoying Elias' comments and groaning freely when he pushes his fingers up into himself a little too fast._ _

__"Well he'll... he'll visit again, won't he?" Jon asks, his grip on Elias' chest leaving long red lines as he curled his fingers down. His own feelings on Peter were complicated, probably nowhere near as complicated as the sexy monster mash that was Elias and Peter but not too far behind. He could at least admit to himself he'd like to see the man again, for questions and less innocent matters._ _

__He pulls his fingers out, shuddering and breathing a moment before shifting again for a better angle for all this. His face flushes despite the shield of alcohol and arousal, though whatever shame was there was not even close to enough to stop him from gripping Elias' cock to position it properly. "You've been more agreeable than I thought you would. I assume you would have negotiated your way out of holding still from the outset."_ _

__

__Elias groans and arches into the sensation of nails scoring his chest, throat bobbing. "You have no idea," he says, "How much restraint I'm showing right now in not simply flipping you over and pounding you into the mattress." His grey eyes seem to glint a little, like he knows how easily Jon is manhandled, how much he likes it. "But you want me to lie here and take what you give me, so that's what I'll do."_ _

__Case in point; he shudders when he feels Jon grasping him, but then goes still, fingers clenching into fists as he forces himself to keep his ass against the mattress and his hands beside his head. His cock jumps hard in Jon's hand, and when he feels the first slick touch of Jon taking him in, he gasps sharply, draws his own lip between his teeth. "If you tease I still might," he warns, voice throaty now. "My control is not infinite — I'm not a very good submissive, Jon, unless you whip me into shape." Possibly he means with actual whips. Possibly he's just being provocative. After all, he's only managed to be this good for this long because he finds Jon responds just as well to words as he does to touch._ _

__

__"I wanted to see what you'd do," Jon admits, because as appealing as everything so far had been he couldn't deny it was an exercise in curiosity, while he had the guts. "You say you're not very good at submitting but you still-" he falters when his angling catches Elias' cock against the rim, sucking in a breath and trying to hold still a moment, just to get the words properly out. "You still held with my request alone so far. And I- I love you for it, I do." If he could he'd lean down for a kiss, but that would mean shifting and losing his place. Sweetness and the like would have to wait._ _

__He bites his lip as the head goes in, his own preparation not as intense or extensive as Elias' tended to be though the discomfort of the stretch didn't bother him nearly enough to stop. Jon is nothing if not stubborn in any situation, so he forces his eyes own to watch Elias as he sinks down, breath hitching and legs trembling slightly with the continued effort of the position. About halfway he has to stop just to breath, and nearly laughs at the thought of Georgie and Tim's earlier teasing. Probably make some remarks on liquid courage and such, he decides in a bit of a daze, then doesn't think of the pair again when he could be focusing on Elias' expressions instead._ _

__

__Oh, well. _Love_ , it turns out, is a much more potent incentive than any threat, and Elias doesn't move his arms to touch or pull or clutch as Jon seats himself — except just once, when he brings his hand to his own mouth and bites down, needing some other sensation to offset the slow fucking torture of tight heat that is Jon pausing halfway._ _

__"You're doing beautifully," he manages, sounding strained. He can't take his eyes off what Jon looks like doing this, furrowed concentration broken at times by being visibly overwhelmed. Elias' wicked possessive streak rears its head and he digs in his heels and thrusts up a little, slipping in an extra inch just to push Jon's limits, then humming after at the squeeze of it._ _

__"Should have let me open you up," he points out, smug smug asshole._ _

__

__Jon chokes at that movement, certainly too much, too soon but he's found that's not necessarily unpleasant. His nails dig painfully into Elias' skin as he tries to glare down at him, a look somewhat ruined blown pupils and the shake in his voice. "C-cocky bastard..."_ _

__Language. He takes a bracing breath, suddenly rather determined to wipe that smug look. He presses down with as much speed as he can manage against his own limits, testing them himself as he takes Elias, bottoms out with a cry and a ridiculous feeling of accomplishment. He shakes as he stays seated there, curling forward with deep, bracing breaths, eyes squeezed shut despite his agenda._ _

__

__And there it is: the impulse to stubborn stupidity that Elias adores, even if it seems likely to one day get Jon killed. He takes another sharp breath when Jon responds to being given more than he can take with determinedly taking everything._ _

__"Now who's impossible," Elias says with a grin, and Jon looks wrecked before they've even really started, so Elias touches again, rubs his thighs, warm and reassuring friction as they tremble under his touch. "Take a moment." Certainly he appreciates having one — this feels manageably good. Friction might actually kill him._ _

__When Jon finally moves, Elias has to grit his teeth against all the nonsense that wants to spill from his mouth. He's making low sounds, abdomen jumping, fingers flexing against Jon's thighs until he finally just holds his hands out for Jon to take. Restraint and steadying balance both._ _

__

__He does take that moment, even if he wants to shoot some retort back or move again to keep making his point. Jon squirms instead, opening his eyes and watching Elias like he meant to. He marvels at the difference of being filled from this angle, of the control of the pace and the view of Elias beneath him. He can't manage that retort so he quirks his lips instead and then begins to move._ _

__The pace is slow and testing at first, thoroughly experimental as he does his best to watch Elias' reactions despite his own shuddering. It's as impossible as ever to keep quiet in any way, all hissed breaths and groans and exhalations of Elias' name. He's grasps Elias' hands when offered, the support making it a little easier to speed up his pace. He thinks from experience Elias likes as much, a faster pace, and he's torn between giving him what he'd like and making him suffer through something slower._ _

__"Lord, Elias..." he breaths, resisting the urge to break his grip on Elias' hand to touch himself instead._ _

__

__"Jonathan," he murmurs, low, taken apart by Jon so shameless on top of him, taking Elias apart just to see what will happen. An inhuman curiosity twinned with very human affection and he's never wanted anyone this much before, with all of himself._ _

__It's surprisingly like getting fucked without actually getting fucked — the lack of control, the feeling of being used for someone else's pleasure, all things Elias greatly enjoys. But it doesn't push him into quite the same selfish headspace, either. He's very cognizant of Jon — can't take his gaze off him, in fact, dragging it between his face and the place they're joined._ _

__He still lasts a while watching passively before he sits up, though, letting go of Jon's hands and hauling himself upright, clutching Jon's back and holding tight, other hand going back to brace them. He can't move his hips at all in this position but it's worth it. to press against Jon's body and seek his mouth hungrily, scatter kisses over his jaw. So far his dirty talk has been breathless, scattered, but now he murmurs, "I love you like this, taking what you need from me. And that voice of yours — tell me how it feels, Jon, to ride my cock."_ _

__

__When Elias calls him Jonathan he closes his eyes just a moment, shuddering. It was a reminder of humanity (who he _really_ was) just as much as Archivist was a reminder of the hooks already buried in him (who he _should_ be.) Elias was the only one who used them both with gravity and understanding of what they actually met. It was addictive, understanding, almost as much curiosity._ _

__He almost chuckles at the far too serious for a drunken fuck thanks thought process, gasping instead when Elias moves. He thinks that he should complain but he's still in control of the pace, which falters at the shift as he wraps his arms around Elias' back a moment just to get closer. He braces his hand eventually on Elias' shoulders, laughing breathlessly into Elias' ear._ _

__" _My_ voice? Even now you're so..." He seats himself fully, grinding a moment with a soft moan before biting his lip, picking up the pace to something slow. "Appealing. It feels- dizzying. You could turn this around whenever... whenever you'd like, but you react instead. You're letting me fill myself up with you, as much as I want, as fast or slow, I can _feel_ you straining against it. It's lovely, it's... appealing," he answers, halting and almost awed._ _

__

__Elias listens and hums, a soft engine purr of a noise, mouthing the sharp edge of Jon's jaw. "Yes, your voice," he says when Jon's done, hands sliding from his back to his ass to his thighs and back to his shoulders, drinking in being able to touch him again, not wanting to stop. "Your fucking voice." He's had months of it resonating vibrato through him every time Jon records, and now his tendency to whisper compulsion across Elias's skin like its a touch of its own._ _

__Jon rides him again, and Elias keeps him steady but lets him, breath coming harsher now. This close the strain in his expression must be obvious, lips parted and brow furrowed slightly. He gives a shaky, shuddering exhale that seems to spasm his whole body, bites his lip hard. "I'm not wholly surprised that you like having control as much as you like having it robbed of you," he admits. "But I admit I do enjoy you so shameless." It's rare to have Jon so open about what he wants without needing to wholly sweep him away first._ _

__

__Jon barely has the breath to laugh, leans to press his forehead to Elias' and whispers, "I may have had a little too much to drink." Try to contain your shock, Elias. When Elias shudders Jon clenches around him, watching with bright eyes. He reaches to shakily trace the furrow of Elias' brow as he takes him deep, a shuddering breath shaking his chest._ _

__"I enjoy the way you tremble, I always have. Did you know that?" He puts pointed, teasing compulsion there, trying to break what composure Elias clung to still. If he liked his voice so much then hell, Jon would try to use it. "I enjoy the way you feel in me, I enjoy when you bite. Lord," he laughs at himself, at saying such ridiculous things, as true as they were. "Elias, touch me, please." Permission._ _

__

__"Oh, I've awakened a monster," Elias laments dryly — probably that's actually a little true, but he only means it jokingly, in response to Jon compelling him while they do this, deliberately provocative._ _

__The request doesn't have compulsion even though the air feels electric with static now, some part of Elias that isn't himself plugged into something vast and rewarding. So Elias takes great pleasure in leaning close and whispering: "No." Contrary shit that he is. Though his hands drop to Jon's ass, squeezing it and then dragging the cheeks apart the next time he drops just to really take him to the hilt. Curious fingers slip sideways and he touches his own shaft, the lube-slick stretch of where they're joined, and groans._ _

__"No, he says again, "I think I want you to touch yourself. I want to watch you. It's something I fantasize about, you know, you alone in bed, begrudgingly taking care of your morning arousal before you're even fully awake — or maybe late at night when you can't get to sleep, wanting anything that helps you stop thinking..." he cuts off, clutches Jon's hip suddenly, stilling him. "Too close just thinking about it," he murmurs ruefully, smutty talk backfiring a little._ _

__

__Jon should have known Elias would turn things around eventually, but he still makes a choked noise at the no and subsequent wandering hands. "Damn it, Elias..." he manages, flushing hotter and picking up his pace as best he can manage as Elias speaks._ _

__And when he's stopped it's with a whine and another clench, then a exhaled laugh. Jon is nothing if not stubborn, and grinds down a moment with another bitten back whine before testing, compulsion pointed still, "Why would I- why do that when I have you now to wake up to?" Damnit he wanted to win this, but he's shaking and trying to move again, fingers digging into Elias' shoulders to keep from moving down. " _Elias_."_ _

__

__He may yet: Elias wanted a pause and isn't getting it, and he's gone tense suddenly with holding himself back, focused entirely on the building pressure, keeping the point of no return at bay. Jon keeps moving over him, fast and good and hot, and Elias scratches helplessly at his hips, groans._ _

__"Jon," he manages back. "I'm not going to last at all if you keep doing that, and I— would like to." But the easy plateau of earlier as Jon worked him slowly over is gone — he's hard and he can't really think about anything except his dick. If Jon wanted to see him lose himself, mission accomplished. There's no traction to thrust but his pelvis tips in a rapid little shudder and he grunts, pulls Jon down hard and holds him there as he comes._ _

__The last pulse of his climax throbs through him and the relief that follows is so good that he slowly stops clutching at Jon and just drops back to the pillows with a wheeze. He's still hard, albeit oversensitive, but he knows that won't last. "Come a little closer," he says, voice worn thin as he urges Jon to come straddle his face instead.. "Hold onto the headboard."_ _

__

__Jon at least makes no attempt to stifle his cry as Elias pulls him down, shakes in and under him. He watches though, dazed but intent as he can manage, and again feels a surge of satisfaction a little too much like victory. He runs his hands up to cup Elias' face reverently. "Lovely," he manages in between breaths, fingers trembling and muscles tight but he did get to watch Elias come apart._ _

__He squirms and grinds as best he can to get some sort of relief through Elias' orgasm. He's tempted to finish himself off right there on Elias' chest, close to doing so before Elias beckons and he bites his lip at the implication. He pulls himself off Elias with a soft groan, feels Elias' come begin to drip out of him as he does as he's told. He's careful as he can manage straddling Elias' face, grabbing the headboard tightly and managing to plead, " _Elias_."_ _

__

__Elias shifts Jon where he wants him, and then hooks two fingers deep into him where he's hot and wet inside. Seriously considers rimming, but just nuzzles fondly before he angles Jon's cock into his mouth instead, looking up at him with hollowed cheeks as he finishes him off like that: soft sucking and tight throat; the blunt press of his fingers over the prostate; letting Jon ride between those two points until he's done._ _

__"Mm," he says, once his mouth is free again, the hum wet. "Maybe that's my favourite thing, actually." God, he's so messy now, and he grins and licks his fingers clean provocatively because he's disgusting and has no limits to his depravity. Absolutely do not kiss this man._ _

__

__Before it's kinkshame Elias time, which is absolutely happening, Jon's of course a loud fucker. As enjoyable as being in control was this is just as enticing, letting Elias do as he would with his fingers and mouth as Jon's mind drained completely. It doesn't take long before he's coming down Elias' throat, curled and panting and slowly uncurling his fingers from their impossibly tight grip on the headboard._ _

__He flops beside Elias, blinking up at the ceiling as he enjoys the fine tremors and soft ache. He glances over at Elias, breath still not quite caught, and makes a face because yeah baby, kinkshame time like promised. "That's disgusting," he informs him, a little too fond and he probably shouldn't immediately curl into Elias' side after saying so. "I think you may have an oral fixation. I'm not complaining, mind you. You're _very_ good at that."_ _

__

__"Hm? I absolutely have an oral fixation," Elias agrees, not even trying to deny it, just smirking lazily at the compliment. If Jon hadn't realized that he basically has blowjobs on tap before, he probably ought to now._ _

__Elias stretches out, uses his hand that isn't a mess to wrap around Jon's waist so they can just relax and cool off together a little before worrying about proper clean-up. "And I'm not disgusted by any part of you." Ha ha remember that time he _licked Jon's blood_. No limits. Make him brush his teeth._ _

__

__"Well I have reservations about parts of me, so don't even think of kissing until you've brushed your teeth," Jon tells him, he isn't so drunk he can't be his stuffy self. He does press a kiss to Elias' shoulder, making a soft, content noise because he wasn't lying about being held being his favourite bit, touch-starved bitch. "You can before we take a shower, we both very much need one."_ _

__

__Elias chuckles, fond, stroking idle patterns on Jon's skin. "All right, fine."_ _

__That doesn't happen right away, Elias falling silent for a little while as their breathing calms and the warm glow finally fades enough for him to decide it's worthwhile getting up. That or they're going to fall asleep here. So he drags Jon's drunk ass out of bed and into the shower, leaves him to clean himself while Elias pointedly brushes his teeth thoroughly before joining him._ _

__"There, happy?" he asks, kissing Jon all minty-fresh, and then turns them so he can rinse off the come and lube on his chest and thighs — considering Jon did all the work Elias managed to get remarkably messy._ _

__

__Jon takes his time kissing back as the answer, though his lips do quirk when he pulls away. "Exceptionally," he answers, reaching over to help brush some of the lube on Elias' chest and side away. "You got a touch messy," he comments, feeling a bit proud of himself despite the slow sobering of his thoughts and, in turn, typical reservations. Idiot._ _

__"I do trust you to protect my life, you know," he says rather suddenly, watching the water run down Elias' skin. "When I'm... less than optimistic about survival it's not a reflection of that trust. If anything it's a reflection of the trust I have in myself making it that far."_ _

__

__Elias slants his gaze over to him, considering. "Trust in my judgement in choosing you, then," he says. Believe in the Elias who believes in you, Jon. "You were all but made to be an Archivist, and you've done an excellent job of it so far. You have everything you need to see it all through, and most of the unpredictable variables have been taken care of."_ _

__

__"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not," Jon answers, though he's sure Elias would believe being 'made to be an Archivist' was a very good thing. Small victories and comforts were the name of the game in these parts._ _

__He settles against Elias' side, resting his head against Elias' shoulder and closing his eyes, being completely unhelpful in the whole cleaning aspect of the shower. "I appreciate the pep talk, I suppose. I'll try to be more... upbeat about my chances of success. At least we're making some progress." Yeah, so optimistic, wow._ _

__

__"Sex and alcohol do such wonders for your temperament," Elias teases, and really, they're mostly rinsed off so there isn't a lot of cleaning necessary. He lingers a little longer under the warm water with Jon pressed up against him before kissing him again, fond, and getting them out._ _

__He dries off perfunctorily, smacks Jon's ass lightly for absolutely no reason, says, "I'm going to get you another glass of water," and goes off to do so. Jon's going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning, and Elias probably won't let him call off sick. Separation of church and state, etc._ _

__

__Jon will never be drunk enough not to be indignant about ass smacks, what is he, a poor harassed Hooter's waitress? He probably likes it a bit too because he's a fucking embarrassing degenerate like that so Elias gets quite the scowl as he leaves. "Cocky, no good bastard," he tells no one, maybe Elias since he's the ultimate nanny cam, and gets into his typical sleep attire before heading to bed to wait._ _


	10. la vie en rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piaf's _La Vie En Rose_ is the song the title comes from.

Jon absolutely has a hangover the next day, groaning as he wakes to Elias shifting and mutters, "I am _never_ going out with Tim and Georgie again. Remind me of that." That's what happens when you only eat breakfast then go off drinking and having sex all night like come on, Jon.

 

Elias is not going to remind him of that, Elias just strokes his hair and kisses his warm throat and murmurs, "Nap a little longer, if you like." After all, he can skip the shower, and Elias is going to organize them breakfast. Namely by going for a walk and buying it; he returns with a coffee, sausage and bean toasties, and a citrusy salty juice the little vietnamese juice place lady had swore would cure any hangover. Probably he should have remembered to feed Jon like, yesterday, he's a terrible pet owner. To make up for it he brings it all to Jon in bed, cuddles him while he eats it even though it's going to crumple his work shirt, and steals bits of sausage like a seagull.

 

It's hard to be pissy and properly hungover when your damn walking security system brings breakfast in bed and cuddling. It certainly helps curb Jon's rudeness to a dull roar, and he picks through the food like a man both a little nauseous and a lot starving. Meatsacks, man.

"Thank you," he says after a few minutes of this, sincere and a little touched despite himself. "I ah... apologize if I was unruly last night at any point." 

 

"You were lovely," says Elias, head on Jon's shoulder, just watching his hands quietly. "I would say you more than earned this breakfast. Perhaps you should go out for after-work socializing more often."

 

"I can't say that's something I expected you to ever say," Jon admits with a raised brow, then offers the seagull man a piece of sausage, holding it up to his lips. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt, though only if Georgie and Tim have had their fill of asking after our sex life. Really, it's not that fascinating." It kind of is though.

 

Elias murmurs "Thanks," against the food before eating it, because he's a gentleman. Anyway, his motivation here is less how fun Jon was when drunk and more how he asked Elias to be more respectful of his attachments to the ordinary humans in his life. And he at least approves of Timothy and Georgina, even if they don't much approve of him.

"I think it's exceedingly fascinating," Elias disagrees, tips his head up to kiss Jon's neck, nuzzle at old marks. "Probably moreso for those who mistakenly think of you as reserved."

 

A polite and thoughtful seagull. "Oh, I'm not reserved?" He's amused, baring his neck for Elias even if he can't drink anymore of that juice.

"Will you be as busy today? You seemed to have quite a lot on your plate before."

 

Elias kisses his way up to Jon's earlobe, nibbles there. "Last night," he murmurs there, "You slicked us both up and rode me like a show pony, so no, Archivist, reserved is not the word I would use." There's immense fondness in this teasing purr.

As for work, Elias sighs in answer. "Probably. May and June are always busy months, when it comes to Institute maintenance. Though with any luck today I can take you home at a reasonable hour and finish up here."

Jon predictably flushes at that, but yeah he did do that huh. Good times. "What happens in the bedroom doesn't count," he answers primly, "Or living room. I suppose the public hot tub is debatable... that was spur of the moment." Wow.

Work is a less sexy fun discussion usually, and he puts salt juice and sausage aside. "That sounds agreeable. I have a recording of Gertrude's to go over, hopefully one with more clues than questions." It's never that easy.

 

Spur of the moment. It's cute that Jon still thinks he's sexually prudent. Just wait, Elias will kick something off at the Institute if he's not careful, and then work will certainly be a sexy fun discussion.

"Good luck with it," Elias says, and then, "You may have to finish your breakfast in the car if we're to be on time," and reluctantly detaches because punctuality is important to him.

 

Jon looks at the clock and _tsks_. "I'll get changed quickly."

He does, and does feel endlessly better for the breakfast. He also does finish his breakfast in the car, making sure not to make a mess because he's typically tidy like that. Unless he's bleeding petulantly on Elias' stuff. The usual. 

When they park and start heading towards the entrance he notices more than a few researchers and the like giving them sideways glances, whispering and generally being predictably fascinated by the unintentional spectacle of the unstable Archivist and the bureaucratic definitely not a murderer Head coming in together. Jon glowers because he's that sort of person. "Lord, you'd think they'd have nothing better to do. We study the paranormal, for god's sake." Complain, complain.

 

"I can dip-kiss you in the lobby if you'd like to really give them a show," says Elias like he doesn't know that no, Jon definitely wants no such thing to happen. He winks at someone from Artifacts and then immediately pretends he didn't, straight-faced. 

Elias probably doesn't look like the sort to have a boyfriend, let alone a moody Rochester of a man like Jon, but he touches his hand lightly when they have to part ways and says, "Have a good day, darling," with a little smile, Rosie surreptitiously making heart eyes at them.

 

Jon rolls his eyes because he catches that wink and knows Elias is just fucking with people. It's endearing but Jon refuses to say so. A battle he will fight to the end. 

He does smile slightly at the good day, probably sending Rosie to the moon, before escaping to his office. Melanie's awkward but friendly enough, Basira merely offering a wave as he greets her. He's glad not to see Tim and whatever subsequent teasing that entailed, though he was curious what happened between Tim and Georgie. He makes a mental note to text her as he enters his office and gets to work.

 

It's a little after lunch when he storms up to Elias' office. No, he didn't eat again, more because he was transfixed with the statement and the revelations of it. He only barely nods to Rosie as he enters Elias' office with little care, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. He at least shuts the door carefully behind him before hissing, "Michael was one of Gertrude's assistants?"

 

Elias looks up from his work, one brow slightly lifted but expression otherwise neutral. "Yes," he says evenly, waiting to see what Jon's point is.

 

" _Yes_? That's all you have to say about it?" Jon asks, incredulous and irate. " _You_ told me he was just an 'irritant!' Those were your words, you dismissed him like he had nothing to do with anything of note and now I find out he worked here? He was a _person_?"

He starts to pace, all nerves and tension. "For god's sake Elias, he reminded me of _Martin_ , he was just- he seemed-" he stops, frustrated, knowing that saying the word innocent would mean nothing. He stops pacing to turn on Elias. "Please tell me he wasn't just... just fed to the Spiral to see what happened."

 

Elias considers telling him to take a seat, then doesn't bother. He does at least now recognize that Jon is upset about this, though the reasoning is, he can't deny, escaping him — he never knew the man.

"Every monster you've ever read about was a person, Jon," he says flatly. "The powers can manifest themselves here as books to be used by us, or they can change and manipulate us. Even the Stranger ostensibly needs... a template." Nikola's voice, for instance, was once a person's voice, even if the puppet herself never really was. And the Not-Them — well.

"Michael _is_ an irritant," he says sourly. "And irrelevant to where your focus needs to be. Do not be distracted by _pity_ for a man you never knew."

 

"Irrelevant- no, I don't think so," Jon shoots back, stepping closer to the desk and stopping behind one of the chairs before it, grasping the back. "It all keeps coming back here, to Gertrude and what she hid and now this. You know what else I ignored as irrelevant? The creeping feeling something was wrong after Prentiss' attack, the- the _certainty_ of it. I excused it away as the need to find Gertrude's killer and in the end- ha, in the end that was the least of my worries, wasn't it? Something was _wrong_."

He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before continuing sharply. "I will not make the same mistake again, Elias. There is something important about Michael, about all of this. And- hell, it isn't as simple as _pity_. Every life lost in this endless nonsense has the right to be mourned!"

 

"Michael," says Elias patiently, "Is still alive. He hangs around the Institute because he never really let go — likes to help out the other assistants when he can, and he hasn't killed anybody yet, so I allow it."

He leans back in his chair, laces his fingers together, watching Jon. "Every domain leaves its mark here. How could it not? The artifacts and statements we collect are not discriminatory in their focus, as well you know. _Your_ job, Archivist, is to _be_ discriminatory."

 

"That sounds an awful lot like an _ally_ , Elias," Jon shoots back, agitated and unsure of what to do with his hands besides clutch the back of the chair. "But that's not it, and neither is irritant. Whatever it is I'm going to find out, is that _discriminatory_ enough?"

Someone's a moody punk. "You never answered me, not that I expected it. Did he run to the Spiral to escape the Beholding? Why? If not then _what_?" He's clearly straining not to use compulsion, the smallest bit slipping with how intent he is on answering this question.

 

"Control yourself," Elias says at that slight lick of a shiver, his voice cold. He doesn't want that interfering with their — discussion. While he knows Jon wouldn't use it to manipulate him, so it's simply a slip, he's not in the mood to tolerate imperfections. (The fact that Jon just implied he's allied to the fucking _Spiral_ is perhaps also why he's increasingly curt.) "I don't imagine Michael was given a choice," he says, some old wound tight in his voice. "People so rarely are."

Still: "I am not in the business of giving out information," he reminds Jon. "Do your own research, if that really is the thread you've decided to chase. There are people here who knew him, there's a statement about the incident sitting in your office, you can probably even track down the man himself. Let's just hope it isn't just a _distraction_ , given what's at stake."

 

Jon bites his lip, clearly apologetic for letting it slip but unwilling to actually apologize with the current atmosphere. His grip on the chair tightens to painful. "Yes, I'm sure the people outside of the Archives will just _love_ talking to me about it, given most of them still think I'm mad or committed a murder." He tries very hard not to say _your_ murder and succeeds, though the tone leaves little room for guessing the intention.

"Or I suppose I can ask my assistants to do it, let's give them more reason to despair when they learn the kind of fate that awaits them. Here I was, foolishly thinking the Beholding would at least try to keep them and death would be their biggest concern."

 

Elias' eyes narrow. "Yes, actually, I think practicing your delegation skills is an excellent idea." Still bitingly frigid, but there's something managerial to it. "They can learn some of the risk entailed in neglecting their duties, and simultaneously be doing something useful — instead of _you_ taking time away from _your_ work to follow this." Jon coddling the assistants by underusing them and withholding information frustrates Elias more than almost anything else Jon does. "Have them ask around. Will that be all, Archivist?"

 

"Is that it then? This is a _warning_ of what happens if they don't fall into place?" Jon's tone is livid enough to make up for Elias' ice, an unstoppable force and immovable object, etc. 

But the conversation is clearly done on Elias' part, and as much as Jon wants to snap at him until something cracks that icy shell he knows better. He pushes off the chair, storming for the door though he stops to glare back at Elias. "I won't let them become monsters, Elias, I don't damn well care what the Beholding wants to see. It can have my humanity, fine, but this is unacceptable."

 

How can one man be so stupidly obstinate and yet still so attractive, it is a mystery for the ages. Elias just lifts his eyebrows in visible doubt, apparently unmoved. "Goodbye, Jon," he says pointedly.

This is the first time he's really felt the divide between the person he becomes with Jon and what he has to be to run the Institute; still, at the end of the day he does come lean in the doorway to Jon's office. "Are you still coming home with me?" he asks, since it's certainly possible Jon needs some space — or is deciding to stay late.

 

Jon glances up, trying for all the world to look unaffected and failing somewhat miserably if the tension in his shoulders and furrow in his brow are any indication. He sets his pen down, considering stubbornly staying here. "Yes, just give me a moment," he decides on, getting up to gather his things and some work he can sequester himself with. 

Also possibly just because he's aware bring work him isn't something Elias generally approves of. Yes, he is that much a petulant brat.

 

Elias at least doesn't comment, just watches and waits, ignoring everyone in the office behind him. He seems casual, propped up in the doorway, like it's any other day, but he can read Jon well enough to know better than to touch him as they head back to the car.

It's not a long drive back to his flat considering he lives in just about the same suburb. Still, the moment they pull off the kerb he speaks. "Before you say anything, we're going to have to discuss bringing work home with us — and I don't mean the briefcase full of files." Though something in his tone makes it clear that Jon is right, he does disapprove of that immensely. "Our professional and romantic relationships are — entangled."

 

Jon follows, tries not to make a show of his frustration and succeeds at least to most. Thankfully he's usually a dour shit so most of the Institute wouldn't notice it may be a bit more potent than usual.

He's quiet as he gets into the car, grappling with what to say- assuming he was going to say anything. He dwelled on the argument most of the day, of course, and predictably went in circles. The fact Elias speaks first is a relief, even if he tenses. "Yes, that's quite the understatement. Most don't argue over the lives of their subordinates in a professional setting."

His tone is dry but when he speaks again he drops that, hesitant. "I'm... aware this is something we'll need to learn to work with. Are you honestly going to suggest we keep these things completely separate? You know I'm not terribly good at that."

 

"No," Elias shakes his head, sounding a little wry. He does his best but he's not sure he could wholly manage it, knows Jon certainly can't. Being professional at work is easy. Not bringing it home with them is not. "I think it's a little late for that, for one thing." Given how much they talk about work, how it's the reason they're together in the first place.

He changes gears with an abruptness that belies his neutral tone; his shoulders are stiff. "We've already talked about you having a sanctuary within my flat for when you need — space. I will also say, as gorgeous as you are when you're angry, I don't want to bring work arguments into our bed at night. We lay it to rest or we sleep apart."

 

Of course Elias would say something like 'you're gorgeous when you're angry,' Jon doesn't even know what to do with that. He scoffs in disbelief ultimately, though Elias had a point with the rest. He was sure it wouldn't be particularly healthy to bring their disagreements to a place that was supposed to be safe for both of them.

He sighs, nodding hesitantly. "Fine, I- that's a sensible enough rule." He goes quiet a moment, clearing his throat before speaking again. "I am in no way backing down from most of what I said but- but I do recognize that the Spiral is something of a sore topic for you, one that I was not... as delicate as I could have been with. So- so I apologize, on that matter alone."

 

Elias' eyes leave the road for a moment to glance at him, difficult to read. But ultimately he must decide not to pick a fight and just says, "Apology accepted." He can let go of that hurt — it makes the rest of it a lot easier, actually, more clearly delineated. Jon handling his old wounds so carelessly had felt like a more personal betrayal.

"Perhaps we need a safeword," he muses. "Or — to borrow that concept. It would give us a way of tapping out of an argument without ceding it, because it's getting too personal or you need some breathing room.

 

Jon nods, some tension easing at the acceptance of his apology. He still didn't quite understand the Spiral and it's hold on Elias, one of the many topics he wanted the story of but more keenly didn't want to hurt Elias by prying. He could gather enough to know he should have taken a step back at least, been a little more careful than his anger allowed.

The suggestion catches his attention, brow raising but he couldn't exactly scoff. "That's... it should be ridiculous but I think it may well be perfect for us," he admits, glancing back at the road as he considers. "Any ideas? Safewords seem to be more your wheelhouse."

 

"Typically my safeword is 'stop'," Elias says dryly. "But this needs to be something we'd never ordinarily say, something jarring and immediate." He's thinking, though, as he turns the car into the parking garage, slides neatly into his space. The car stops and the engine purrs into silence but he doesn't immediately get out, thinking.

 

"I can't believe we're coming up with a safeword for _arguments_ ," Jon sighs, but he sits back and considers it seriously for a moment. He glances over after a moment, brow quirked. "Tolstoy? Since you're so fond of Anna Karenina. Unless you plan on old Russian authors being a matter to argue over." Knowing their luck there were some Leitners with Russian bleakness around.

 

Elias laughs suddenly at that, some of his ice cracking. "Yes, all right," he says fondly, "Tolstoy." He looks at Jon a moment longer, more affectionate than he should be all things considered, and then gets himself together and gets out of the car to head for the lift. He's quiet on the ride up, regarding Jon.

"Now the question becomes," he says, "Are you very cross with me?"

 

And of course the laugh makes Jon's lips threaten to quirk, a definite softness to the sharp edge he had been carrying since the argument. He dwells on it, because of course he does, only breaking from his thoughts when Elias poses one of the questions he was asking himself.

He stays quiet a moment, working through his own feelings and feeling clumsy for it. "... I don't know. I'm trying to... to be more understanding of a distinctly inhuman way of viewing the world, and more so the people in it. The human in me is horrified at how little worth you put to individual lives against the grand scheme of things but... the other part of me rather understands it, and that upsets me."

He exhales, straightening and regarding Elias more fully with that out of the way. "Otherwise you cannot possibly understand how incredibly frustrating it is to have you critique my leads and focuses when you refuse to give me information I could use to move forward. Yes, I know, I need to figure it out myself and such but it's... _frustrating_." He repeats that word with feeling, because boy was it for a nosy nancy monster punching bag. "If I didn't know you believed I could do this for some damnable reason I'd be very cross indeed."

 

Elias listens to this and nods slowly, not particularly surprised. It's harder than it normally is, to let down all his icy bureaucratic walls and find the lingering vestiges of his humanity that only Jon gets to see.

"I have," admits Elias, "A similar division of self. As you know, I maintain a fairly strict policy of non-interference, and for me that includes your investigations. I share what I can, Jon. About myself, especially, because that isn't so... restricted. But it isn't in the nature of Beholding to give away its information—" the lift doors open, and he steps out. "Unless it's in the service of creating more."

Christ, he needs a drink.

 

"I know. It's difficult, because I don't _understand_ all this secrecy. It's an exercise in simply putting my trust in the idea that you're right, that it's all for the best." Jon follows him out, feeling just as in need of a drink but refraining. Instead he grabs Elias' sleeve to stop him before he continues. "And I do, Elias. I trust you, and it's very much against my nature to do so without all the information. I suppose we're all going against our natures in some way here."

A bumpy road indeed. "Are you terribly cross with me then?" Right back at ya, buddy.

 

Elias turns to face him fully, and then puts a careful hand on Jon's waist — when it's not immediately rebuffed the other joins it. "No," he says honestly. "If I was abrupt it was largely because I have a responsibility not to show favouritism." He's very good at putting aside all his actual feelings, his empathy and affection, probably much better than Jon. "And I meant it when I said I accepted your apology." 

God, have they talked this out like responsible adults? Amazing.

 

Jon nods, exhaling and letting some of the tension leave his shoulders as he places his hands on Elias' chest. "I told you I'd fight you," he tells him matter-of-factly, feeling rather drained after a day of irritation and double guessing. He tries to do as Elias suggested, putting aside thoughts of Michael and skins and doom as if taking off a coat and leaving it by the door. Not easy, and likely not going to work for long, but Elias was a good distraction.

"I'll be more careful in the future regardless. I don't _want_ to fight you, you realize," he says dryly but the sincerity is there. "Well, this ended better than nearly any argument I've had of substance before. You're singularly peculiar that way."

 

Elias steps in a little closer, and they're embracing now, all of this negotiation feeling easier because of it. He takes Jon's weight a little, holds his gaze.

"Really," he murmurs. "Good then. I've certainly had arguments end more — passionately." Because he likes it rough as heck sometimes. He gives Jon a dirty smile. "So, if you're ever feeling _particularly_ frustrated..."

There isn't that kind of electricity between them now, though, just some sort of ease, like they can be each other's solace. Elias has never known its like before either, and it makes him think that maybe this might actually be a good thing for both of them.

 

Jon can't help but chuckle at that, ducking his head against Elias' shoulder and feeling like something certainly had to be wrong, because nothing in his life was ever this easy, especially not relationships. 

"Ah, and here I thought I wouldn't have the chance to call you shameless today. I believe they call that make up sex, and given our... previous engagements I rather doubt frustration would be all that necessary." It's them, they'll find a way. He likes rough as heck quite a bit too, nightmare couple that they are.

More than anything he finds himself easing that they wouldn't have to worry about sharing a bed, and he nearly laughs again at how ridiculous that was. "I've gotten so used to falling asleep with you there I admit I was rather put off at the idea of falling asleep alone."

 

Elias slides a hand up his back between Jon's shoulderblades and tucks him in close, breathing in the scent of his hair. "Yes," he agrees. Thinks fleetingly of Peter, his insistence that their companionship was only going to make their inevitable loneliness worse. He needs Jon in a way that feels almost dangerous with how intense it can be sometimes.

 

"Have you eaten anything today aside from your breakfast," he asks, even though care and feeding of his Archivist is going to be a prelude to him having to pull away, when what he actually wants to do is just stand here and make out in the middle of their living room for a while. "Perhaps we could try cooking something together."

 

Jon sighs, wanting very much to go with the stand around and make out plan but sadly he's a meatsack and Elias remembers to feed his tamagotchi. He does take a moment to just enjoy the feeling of being close before nodding and pulling slightly away. "I may have forgotten to eat in all the excitement," he admits begrudgingly. "Have you eaten? I can never quite tell if you have the same lackadaisical attitude on food as you do on sleep."

Still, the idea of cooking together is rather nice, and he threads his fingers with Elias' as he moves to the kitchen. "What would you like to make? Perhaps this can be the start of your cooking lessons."

 

"I require very little of both to function," Elias says, "So I mostly do them for pleasure." Certainly he sleeps a lot more with Jon in his bed, just because drifting off all warm and curled up together is more important to him than whatever productive things he'd usually do in the witching hours.

Anyway, they're holding hands now, apparently, Elias squeezing Jon's gently. "I have some steaks in the freezer, if you know how to do anything with those."

 

"That is precisely what I mean- you're not so far gone down the path of the inhuman that you don't need three solid meals a day, are you?" Says the guy who rarely manages more than one on his own. He nods to the news of the steaks, reluctantly parting to grab them and let them thaw.

"I don't cook steaks very often, but it'll do. What's your preference? Most enjoy rare, I find."

 

"Overcooking a good steak is criminal," Elias says. "I like mine bloody." Because of course he does, this nightmare man. He looks in the fridge, fishes out some vegetables to make a side or two — he doesn't really know what he's doing but presumably they can muddle through it well enough together and his cooking skill will level up or whatever.

 

"How incredibly surprising," Jon says dryly, setting up the stove and offering what insights he can while he does so. Again, not exactly cook of the year but at least he's regularly done so rather than Richie Rich over here. He sets Elias to cutting the onion while he prepares the pan, and feels strangely warm for this domestic bullshit, lord save him.

"I've been cooking meals since high school but I don't think I've ever actually done so with someone else. This is... nice," he says, glancing over with a half smile. "Disgustingly domestic, of course."

 

"Oh, disgustingly," teases Elias, "Yes, you seem very disgusted." Also Elias basically never cries but his tear ducts do actually work, so after cutting the onion he has to wipe his face on a dishcloth, rinse his hands. The sole disadvantage of not needing glasses. But he handles it perfunctorily, like it's meaningless.

"Just tell me when you get bored with it and we'll go back to letting the hired help keep us in meals," says Elias, because he's trying to ease Jon in slowly to being incredibly rich but also why does anybody do this if they don't have to. He does like watching Jon (how new and surprising) but if he's learning it's mostly incidental.

 

"Oh, are you bored with this already? We've hardly begun, you know," Jon answers, amused as gets the mushrooms ready. He walks over at one point with a damp washcloth to dab at Elias' eyes, maybe the slightest bit apologetic he stuck Elias with onion duty.

Not that apologetic though. Suffer.

When the meal is done he looks pleased with the result, not as perfect as the house keepings but good for his skill level. "Have you learned anything, you'd say?"

 

They make a delicious side of vegetables for their steak and mushrooms and sit down to eat it. Elias shrugs insouciantly. "I suppose," he says, "I could probably recreate the recipe if I had to." The fact that he doesn't ever have to seems clear in his tone. Still: "I do appreciate you taking the time to demonstrate. It's not as though watching you is particularly difficult." One might even say Elias finds him easy... on the eyes…

 

on rolls his eyes. "Some say it's more satisfying to make something with your own hands. I don't suppose you do so often."

He sets their places, at the very least he knows how to set a table up nice. When he takes a seat he regards Elias with a look that tends to mean questions are coming. "What are your parents like? Are they still alive?" Bingo.

 

Oof, ambushed at his own dinner table. Elias disregards manners that were rapped into him as a boy and leans an elbow on the table once he's cut his steak, eats with a fork and talks with his other hand. 

"They are not," he says, though that's probably not incredibly surprising given his age (such a cradle snatcher). "I wouldn't be so obscenely rich if I had any other living family," he adds wryly.

"As for what they were like... my father was a man of business and tradition, practical and managerial, however I believe he preferred numbers and figures to people. My mother was a narcissist and a social butterfly who spent her whole life avoiding ever having to do any work herself. How they were together long enough to have Genevieve and I is a mystery for the ages."

 

Jon has better manners than Elias the cradle snatching heathen but doesn't seem to notice as much. Likely because he doesn't truly care and he's busy grilling Elias for information again. Typical.

"How they got together in the first place would be my question, though I suppose they may have been matched by their own parents," he did not understand this. (Haruhi voice) Rich people. "And you lived with your mother when they separated?"

"Oh no," says Elias, "No, they fell in love. My father's family were French new-money, practically blue collar with their vineyards. My mother was all but aristocracy. Practically Romeo and Juliet — of course, that couple died before they needed a divorce."

He sounds quite flip about the whole thing. Eats some more steak. Though: "Are you working up to asking me about my sister or simply psychoanalysing me?" (LIke Jon isn't king of just wanting to know about Elias for the sake of knowing about Elias.)

 

Jon gives Elias quite the look for that, mostly exasperated but somewhat amused as he spears a mushroom with his fork. "For god's sake Elias, haven't I made it clear enough I'm curious about you? Most partners talk about their parents and have general information on them, so I imagine."

His tone sombers somewhat as he continues. "And no, I wouldn't ask about her so soon after an argument, it seems in bad taste. In fact, if you prefer I won't ask about her at all and wait until you're prepared to bring her up again yourself." This is pretty damn big for him, given he's dying of curiosity about her. Love sure does weird things.

 

"I see." Jon never ceases to surprise him, and Elias feels a warm rush of fondness. Eats his kinder steak instead. "I appreciate that, but Genevieve's story does feel relevant to our argument, given she, too, was consumed by the Spiral."

 

"Oh, I-" Jon hesitates, curiosity now tempered with a flush of guilt. He sets his fork down, brow furrowing. "I didn't realize, it- I know I already apologized but I feel the need to do so again." That explained some things. A single encounter survived didn't usually bring the level of ire Elias did when discussing the Spiral. Even Jon didn't particularly hate the Web if got down to it.

"Do you want to? Discuss it, that is."

 

"Maybe." Elias gives him a long, considering look, fork tines scraping the plate idly. "I think for the first time I find myself wishing your particular talents really did work on me. It might make it easier."

 

"Have you tried giving in to it?" Jon asks, then hesitates. "I obviously can't know how it feels, but Daisy at least seems to fight it. Maybe that can work the other way."

 

"I'm not sure I can," Elias says, and then chuckles. "Perhaps if I was out of my head enough to relax, but that's also not really happened in years." Maybe with Peter. Definitely when he was a stoner. But he's never gone down easy, not with drugs, not with submission, and not with compulsion; it's his mind's instinct to fight and he can't stop it. 

Maybe if he had a lot of therapy. But lol he's an old supernatural white dude, like that solution would ever appeal.

"Perhaps I'll let you go find out yourself, once all this business with the Stranger is over." He can set up a backstory treasure hunt, it'll be fun! He's missed his yellow envelopes.

 

Jon can't help but laugh, sitting back. "Really? You'll have me dig into your past? For what, amusement or practice?" Probably both, knowing Elias. He shakes his head, not sure if that was exasperating or endearing. Again, probably both.

"You could write it down, if you don't feel like being needlessly complicated," which was never. "Heaven forbid."

 

"I don't think I could do that either," Elias admits. "The amount I've already told you about my life is ten times more than anybody else really knows, Jon. I'm not — even without Beholding, I'm not predisposed to openness."

 

"I can't say I don't understand that," Jon admits back, feeling a certain warmth of satisfaction at knowing 'ten times more than anybody.' "In a way it's been rather a relief, that you know as much as you do about me without my having to say it. I suppose most would find it unpleasant." Most people aren't monsters.

"Well... your secrets are worth the effort."

 

Elias puts his chin in his hand and presses his fingers over his mouth, covering a pleased little smile. "Jonathan, that's almost romantic of you."

 

Jon glances away in embarrassment, oh no he showed A Feeling. What kind of brit is he. "Again, not something most would agree with. Typically it's called 'being nosy.'" Lmfao. Makes you wonder how weird other domain couples would be. "And I'd rather not prod again at spots I didn't realize were so sore."

 

"I can endure a little prodding," Elias says dryly. "I promise, I am perfectly capable of dealing rationally with the Spiral. I just —" he pauses for a long moment, and only continues because Jon is clearly expecting an end to that sentence. "I worry about you," he admits very quietly, like that's shameful. So there they are both talking about their feelings, what the actual fuck.

 

Look at this, two whole feelings and they're being honest about them? Disgusting. Jon looks over, clearly surprised at how that sentence ended. "Worried- why? I won't be tricked by Michael, I can promise you that. As much of a lead I think he is and as much as I regret what happened to the human he once was I know better than to trust him." 

He says to the guy who murdered his predecessor. Nice.

 

"The Spiral is something of a blind spot, for me," Elias admits. "And you are definitely — susceptible, to being trapped and harmed by other powers." He could make a list, Jon. Normally he doesn't worry because he feels in total control of the situation; even letting Jon leave his sight with Peter, while a risk, had been a calculated one. Michael, he has nothing, no predictions and no leverage.

 

"Oh," Jon answers simply, touched in some way at the concern. Having someone genuinely worried over his well being wasn't something he was used to or took gracefully. Look at Martin. He glances down at the shiny, ruined skin of his palm and wrist from Perry and can't really argue any of that.

"I suppose that's rather the point sometimes, isn't it? Firsthand experience," he says dryly after a beat before continuing more seriously. "I can handle Michael, or at least I think I have some idea of something he wants."

 

"So long as that thing isn't _you_ ," Elias says a little darkly, and picks up his knife to finish cutting his steak with jagged, muted motions.

 

Jon's brow raises. "If we weren't talking about a quite literal monster I'd think you were being territorial." Don't worry, Elias, Michael is not one of the possible threesome candidates.

 

Elias gives him a _Look_ that says perhaps that assumption isn't too far off the mark — not that he expects Jon to bring Michael into their bed, but sometimes his possessiveness isn't sexual.

"We have plenty of congress with quite literal monsters, Jon," he reminds him. "But, be careful, that's all. Michael's as difficult to get rid of as he is to find, and as much as I like you a little bloody he could kill you without even really intending to."

 

"I will," Jon promises. So this was what it was like to be the one getting Pointed Looks instead of giving them. A new world. "This is all assuming, of course, I can even find him. You aren't wrong about it being difficult."

He stands from his empty plate, walking over to run a hand through Elias' hair before trailing it down to grasp his shoulder.

 

Elias is tense as sheet rock, but looks up at Jon and his eyes soften. He, too, stands, pulls Jon in for a slow kiss. "I may be able to help with that. But only if you tell at least one of your assistants about the Unknowing so they can follow up on some of the other appearances of the Stranger." Always negotiating, huh.

 

Jon huffs helplessly. "I cannot believe you're negotiating even now," he complains, and can believe it easily. He does consider a long moment before sighing softly, resting his hands at Elias' waist. "Fine. I'll tell them- all of them- about it. I'm not sending any of them into anything dangerous still, I hope you know."

 

"Hm," says Elias, but doesn't attempt to push the matter further. "All right then. I'll see what I can do about having Michael show up for you." At least if he brings the man (?) to the Institute he'll have some measure of control over he and Jon's meeting.

Another kiss. The truth is that he doesn't need the reassurance of control or the assistants in the loop or any of it. No matter how much he disapproves of what Jon wants to do, it is what it is and he wants to help because he loves him. Which seems dangerously partial. 

"Jonathan," he says seriously, fingers scratching idly through the short hair at the nape of his neck. "Do you know how to dance?"

 

Jon bites back a comment on how interesting it would be to see Elias and Michael in the same space- one the very picture of order and the other the very definition of the opposite. But the Spiral took too much from Elias for casual remarks of the sort, and he settles for nodding in acceptance of the deal. He'd rather be kissing anyway.

The question makes him blink then shake his head. "No, never had a reason to learn. I'd hate to shock you but I was never invited or interested in any dances," he says dryly.

 

"Hm," says Elias again, but there's a different intonation now. Playful. "Well, you have one now."

He leans against Jon and pulls out his phone, still just idly touching him as he finds the music he wants and plays it, the music warming through the flat. It's Edith Piaf's _La Vie En Rose_ because he can on occasion be just hugely gay. "Come dance with me," he coaxes, tugging Jon towards a more spacious part of the living room.

 

Jon watches him, brow raised until the music starts and he can't help a soft laugh. "Lord, you're something else," he says, deeply charmed despite himself. Sue him, this was beyond anything Jonathan 'British Oskar the Grouch' Sims ever expected, and he's not immune to it.

He follows, a small smile still on his face. "All right, how do you want me?"

 

"Now that's a dangerous question," Elias chuckles, velvety. "With a lot of answers." But then he pulls Jon in close, takes one of his hands. "Let's try a basic box-step. Right leg back." They're close enough that their thighs are touching, so Elias can press with his own left leg to guide Jon's.

 

"I find your answers are typically enjoyable," Jon answers, give the boy a medal he's alluding to sex things without making a big deal of it. Just vague enough not to fluster. "Even some of the dangerous ones."

He nods, taking this seriously because new information was always serious, thanks. The proximity helps, honestly, just a little distracting and a lot lovely, and congrats Elias, he seems to learn that box step with ease. He watches his feet first, then tries glancing at Elias as he does it without the crutch of watching. "Like this?"

 

"Just like that," agrees Elias, and he's counting them _one two three_ slowly, but speeding up the tempo until it matches the music. He adjusts his grip on Jon, and away they go. "And there we are," he says, holding Jon's gaze, all those dangerous answers written there, "You're waltzing."

 

Jon follows his lead, tries not to overthink the movement and finds it shockingly easy to focus instead on his partner and simply reacting. It's all so very charming in ways it had no right to be, and he imagines the kind of cultured, wealthy upbringing that required waltzing to be done just as perfectly as everything else. 

He watches back, wondering if Elias found the intent eye contact as intimate as he did. Elias never looked away, so he rather imagines he does. "Well, I have an excellent if not somewhat smug teacher," he murmurs. "I think I see the appeal of dancing now."

 

Elias does: there's something very intimate and very heady about moving in sync, staying this close, doing nothing but looking into each other's eyes like that can say everything. Gross romantic shit, basically. The music changes to another Piaf song that is actually a waltz and Elias introduces the half turn so they can circle slowly as they dance, until finally he misses a step in order to lean in for a kiss, and then that's it for dancing, they're just going to exchange long kisses as the music plays around them.

Elias breaks from Jon's mouth with one hand at his face and the other at the small of his back, tall and steady and a little flushed. "I want to dance with you on our wedding day," he admits, which is the first time he's said he wanted anything from any part of the wedding beyond the obvious purpose.

 

Jon would have a few things to say about the kissing not typically being part of a waltz as far as he knew, but that would mean pulling away and he's certainly not having that. The day was something of a rollercoaster, and even if his fight with Elias settled well there was still a churning in his stomach at the way Michael sounded so much like Martin once upon a time, at the idea of telling this horrible fate to Tim who just recently managed to get something like his spark back. It was a churning shaped by the same helplessness he felt before but now was tempered with a guilt over being so damned happy when everything else, for everyone else, was so bleak. 

The kissing has a wonderful, distracting way of quieting that, putting a sharp focus on Elias warm against him and so very lovely for a man who was more a monster. The words especially pull his focus, a jab of emotion to his gut, shattering his belief that he didn't care for the sentimentality of a wedding day. Apparently he did, because he reaches up to pull Elias in for a long, probing kiss as his answer.

When he pulls back he takes a small breath, "Then I'll need more practice. Wouldn't want to disappoint."

 

"You could never," Elias promises, dropping a small chaser of a follow up kiss on Jon's mouth, just a little peck. 

But. But. They can dance a little more, for practice. Elias teaches him how to foxtrot next — it's not that different to a waltz, except for the timing, the bigger steps that have them moving giddily around the room together. He dips Jon at the end of the next song and kisses him again smoothly. Lifts him straight and does it again, affectionate.

"This is nice," he says honestly. Cooking together, dancing together. Jon isn't the only one surprised by what a little bubble of a refuge this relationship is in the midst of everything else, even their own arguments.

 

There's a warmth to Jon's expression that probably will always look a little strange on his face, given he's typically drawn to being dour and abrasive. It's a warmth that cracks into a laugh closer to someone his actual age when Elias dips him, muffled against Elias' lips. There's a flush to his skin from the dancing and it all is nice, like Elias said. Almost like the world wasn't close to ending.

"It is," he agrees, watching him with a kind of wonder that comes with the question of how the hell they managed to find something so nice despite it all. Fascination with this side of Elias that he only showed at him. "I hope you can add it to that list of truly pleasant memories you told me was so short. I'll have to endeavor to help fix that."

 

"I can. I do. You do," Elias reassures him, hand running down Jon's bicep fondly. "I — appreciate having something like this in my life, more than I can say." Even if sometimes it's terrifying, reawakening long-dormant aspects of his humanity, considering how much more he has to lose now, wondering who or what he will be when Jon is gone.

He pats Jon's arm lightly. "I think it's time for me to take you to bed." Perhaps a little early, but Elias isn't planning on letting him sleep straight away. Once they're through with their domestic bedtime routines they're going to have some surprisingly vanilla sex. Elias' hips rolling into him like the tide, all slow and romantic and staring-into-each-other's-eyes and not at all like Elias would have predicted when he sent Jon storming out of his office. When they're both done he cleans Jon up and makes him drink water, almost a routine on its own now, and then settles in to hold him quietly.

So much for all that work Jon brought home.

(Jon won't realize that until deep into the morning, that Elias successfully danced his way into work cockblocking him. He'd probably be pissed about it if he wasn't disgustingly in love.)

He wakes up somewhat early the next morning, stretching and loose and warm from sleep and Elias' body heat. If Elias was still sleeping, probably not, he'd press a kiss to his temple before pulling himself up and grabbing his phone. After a cup of coffee he makes a call, not to Georgie but to a place to get his thing's scheduled to move in to Elias' place. Their place, he thinks with a certain amount of eye rolling and softly pleased quirking to his lips. 

With that settled he makes breakfast- pancakes, can you fucking imagine. He has time so why not? Perks of actually getting up early and sleeping regularly again. Amazing.

 

Elias goes out to do gym things, returns to pancakes and coffee and Jon in a very good mood, all of which are great. He's a little disarmed at the pancakes, in fact, and pulls Jon into a proper kiss. "You're a marvel," he murmurs.

 

The rest of the work week passes like this, gently domestic. Elias organizes to have one of the spare rooms cleared of its decor and left for Jon to fill however he'd like; he also gives him a credit card and tells him to use the weekend to buy any furniture or office supplies or storage he's missing. Whatever goes in there, he doesn't look, trying to truly set a precedent of respecting Jon's privacy within that room.

He also organizes Michael, though he tells Jon that he probably won't show up until next week sometime — "Which is a _good thing_ , you have plenty to focus on and you need a break between statements." (Whether he caused the delay himself is ... possible.) But he looks haggard enough at whatever he did to make this happen for Jon that perhaps he'll let him off that particular hook.

 

It's pretty damn strange to sort through his life and decide what was worth keeping and what wasn't. A good chunk of his things he ultimately got rid off, no real need for the clutter of it. It's both freeing and a little terrifying, the paranoid part of him a constant reminder of what could happen if things went wrong. Well, he's certainly dealt with being thrown to the wind with nothing but the clothes on his back now, hasn't he? He survived, and there's something comforting in that.

He does bring some things- his desk and all the materials he would need for his study, books and things he collected and an old quilt he'd drape over his shoulders when it got cold. His clothes go in the bedroom, along with a small box of personal effects- old pictures and important papers and mementos he didn't care for as deeply as his grandmother did but still felt some obligation to hold onto. He doesn't ultimately need to buy much, indulges in a bookshelf to make organization easier. 

He also decides not to give Elias his copy of _House of Leaves _just yet. The man had enough Spiral for the moment.__

__It's a peaceful enough week, other than the itching on the back of his neck not unlike being watched. It's strange to even notice that feeling now, given he was always watched, and easy enough to ignore since he had another concern. He decides to address that concern when he heads to Elias' office one day, shutting the door behind him and regarding him with a furrowed brow._ _

__"You look worn out," he accuses, concerned and, perhaps, a little guilty given he has a feeling he knows exactly why._ _

__

__Elias looks up, and he does look a bit buggered, but he doesn't seem inclined to acknowledge Jon's concern. "Thank you, darling, what a sweet thing to say," he murmurs sarcastically, taps a sheaf of papers against the desk and turns to put them in his filing cabinet. It's always a little disconcerting having Jon in his office now, having to balance managerial distance with his more unprofessional feelings for the man._ _

__

__Jon rolls his eyes and walks forward, stubbornness incarnate. "Take a break for a moment, would you? Indulge me." Hey, at least he didn't call Elias an old man yet. "Then you can go back to being aloof and bureaucratic and largely impossible."_ _

__

__"Hm." Elias sits back in his chair, his workaholic heart deeply skeptical of this 'break' concept. "Indulge you. All right." He's not really sure what he's agreeing to, but his attention is at least on Jon now._ _

__

__Triumph, sort of. Jon looks somewhat pleased by this. "Take off your suit jacket," so forward, Jon-senpai. He walks over and behind Elias' chair, grasping his shoulders and digging his thumbs in to whatever tension he can find._ _

__Hey, it's the best he can do to help so this is what you get._ _

__

__Elias quirks an eyebrow but does, undresses a little for Jon. The moment he applied hands to shoulders and Elias understands he breathes a shaky laugh and says— "Wait. Lock the door, will you." It's not modesty, he just feels he and Jon are a private thing, no matter how much office gossip there is about them now._ _

__He also picks up the phone on his desk and murmurs something to Rosie, presumably ensuring they won't be disturbed. Though Jon is one of the only people who marches into his office without an appointment, unannounced. Which he's somewhat grateful for right now, slumping forward over his desk._ _

__

__"Wouldn't want anyone to see you relaxing," Jon answers, bemused but going over to do as he's told. Like he'd be any better. He returns after the door is locked and gets back to work, feeling himself ease somewhat as well just at the ability to do anything helpful, even something small._ _

__"How are you feeling?" He asks after he's spent a few good minutes silently working, running one hand down the back of Elias' neck fondly._ _

__

__Elias shivers at that, the feathery touch after a while of Jon's heavy pressing thumbs have had him making soft noises into his wrist. "Mm," he says helplfully, but it's a good mm. It's so rare for him to let his guard down in this building, ever, and yet here he is. "I'm going to have to find a new Archivist so I can set you to doing that full time."_ _

__

__Jon huffs an amused breath, scratching lightly down Elias' neck once more before going back to firmly working out what knots he could reach. "Now that may be what most would consider an abuse of power, but I'll take it that I'm doing well in relaxing you."_ _

__

__Bodies are so strange. Nothing in their circumstances has changed in the past twenty minutes, and yet Jon's thumbs pressing warm through the thin material of his short until right muscles give with a groan is quieting his mind just as well. Clever hands work him over and Rosie is definitely going to think they're doing something obscene in here because Elias can't adequately muffle the noises Jon is coercing from deep in his lungs._ _

__When he next pauses Elias flops heavily back in his chair and spins it to look at Jon, grey eyes all soft. "Come here please."_ _

__

__Jon's going to die a little when he eventually leaves and Rosie gives him a knowing look and a wink. For now he's just pleased with his work and enjoying it's effect._ _

__"Well, you did ask nicely," he admits and presses a knee against the seat of the chair so he can properly lean in, cup Elias' jaw and kiss him. When he pulls back with with a dry smile. "You look much better now. Excellent." Brat._ _

__

__"I feel much better," Elias admits reluctantly, tracing Jon's jaw. "Thank you, truly." Elias tries to pull him a little closer, into his lap, though just so he can wrap his arms around Jon. "And how has your day been."_ _

__

__It's Jon's turn to look slightly smug, though he does take that seat in Elias' lap and brushes his hair as if to put it back in place. Spoilers, he doesn't have to. "I told Melanie what's going on, all of it. She knew the most already so it was somewhat easier to fill in those gaps. She took it well enough- agreed to help me gather the others so I could explain things. We're going to try to do so tomorrow."_ _

__He sighs, shoulders slumping somewhat. "I admit, it's... nice to have someone else on board but I'm concerned how the others will take it, Tim especially."_ _

__

__"Tim will likely be relieved, given that like you he's a paranoid with a tendency to invent explanations to fill in the gaps of his understanding. Having a purpose will comfort him. I'd be more concerned about Martin, who is both likely to be upset you didn't tell them sooner and the most likely to strike out on his own to try and do something he thinks will be helpful." He sounds fairly impartial, like a bookie predicting race performance. "Also, I think Melanie might stop trying to kill me now, so everyone's odds of surviving this just went up by a great deal."_ _

__

__"Yes, I'll have to talk to him about- wait, Melanie did what?" Jon is very late to the party and his brow raises like a shot. "What do you mean she tried to kill you? When did this happen and why did you not mention it before?"_ _

__

__"Oh, it's happened a couple of times," Elias says blandly. "She's been very obvious about it, but I imagine given enough time she might have gotten better, or lucky. Only needs to beat the odds once." He's so cavalier about his own death. "However I was fairly certain she'd come to her senses before that point."_ _

__And if not, well. He probably would have killed her first. Which is exactly why he didn't tell Jon._ _

__

__"I... she didn't seem like she was capable of such a thing," Jon blinks, just... baffled. He's torn between being upset someone tried more than once to kill his fiance and understanding of where she was coming from. He sighs, resting his forehead against Elias' a moment._ _

__"I'd talk to her to make sure but I doubt it will help. No wonder she's seemed so out of sorts about our engagement."_ _

__

__"She has nothing to lose," Elias says. "I mean I try and only hire people with nothing to lose but Melanie truly has _nothing_. Ask her about India sometime. If she's still discontent by the time we're less overworked I might see if she wants to go off with the Lukases." Alternately if Jon ever dies unexpectedly he has her pegged as his replacement Archivist, but he isn't going to raise that possibility._ _

__

__"Lord, don't do that to her," Jon mutters, before indulging in a defeated sigh. "At least let her listen to Peter's statement if the offer is made. Hopefully she'll realize it could be worse." _So far_ , at least. He wants them to have some choice but he also doesn't want them running into something they'll regret immensely, if anything is left by the end._ _

__He shakes his head. "Enough of that. I'm going to leave a little early to stop by Georgie's before she has to go on some work trip or another. I just want to give her back her key and get what little I left there."_ _

__

__"She's seen worse already, I think," Elias says, but doesn't clarify. Maybe once everything's settled and Jon takes her statement he'll agree that she might be happier onboard, say, a ship._ _

__But he lets Jon put an end to the subject, for which he's glad; the assistants are always thorny between them. He kisses Jon again, just sloppy makeouts for a moment because Jon's already thoroughly blurred his personal-professional boundaries. "All right," he agrees. "I'll see you at home?" Their home, now, which unsurprisingly is like, the joy of Elias's heart._ _

__Yes, sloppy, inappropriate makeouts are much better than that. Jon pulls away, pressing a parting kiss to Elias' lips as he gets from the chair. 'Home' still have him a quiet thrill. "Yes, I'll pick something up for dinner on the way back. Curry, if there's no complaints."_ _

__He leaves, and Elias may be interested to see how Rosie winks at him and Jon just looks puzzled, walks away and then turns bright red halfway down the hall when he realizes what that wink probably meant._ _


	11. kidnapping / skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings include: Kidnapping, torture, flaying, painkillers and wound recovery, blood, murder, death of a canon character (not Jon or Elias). Canon-typical violence in general.

Everything is fine and normal until it isn't, and the recorder whirls on in time to catch Breekon and Hope informing Jon plans had changed and shoving him into what was probably their van. The recording stops again and there are no eyes where the Stranger's things stay. There is nothing for several hours until the recording starts again in what sounds like a hollow, echoing place.

" - and it- oh! There we go! Came on all by itself, it did! Nosy little thing, aren't you?" A breathy, feminine voice starts, and there's the sound of plastic clacking. There's heavy breathing nearby, and it's clear that breathing belongs to Jon when he speaks.

"What are- _argh_ ," his question collapses to a cry, one he tries to bite off but there's another clacking of plastic until it turns to a scream. That ends suddenly too, back to heaving breaths as Nikola tuts.

"Shh, shh, now, what did we say, Archivist? What's the rule that good little Archivists must follow when in my house?" There's silence, until it's broken by a shriek of plastic, a choked sound from Jon and Nikola's voice taking on an inhuman timbre. " _What is it_?"

"N-no... no questions," Jon gasps, and Nikola hums cheerfully.

"Good! Good boy! But if you make that mistake again I'll have to sew your lips shut, hm? Do we want that? No, no we don't, I like your pretty little sounds when you're scared. You know, maybe your master does to! Do you?"

There's silence then the scrape of plastic, and the voice is closer to the recorder, louder. " _Do_ you?"

Another silence besides Jon's breathing, long and thoughtful, and Nikola finally speaks again. "Now, you _hear_ me, don't you? Don't you? I hope so. I hope so for the poor little Archivist, _your_ poor little Archivist. Ours, now, because I changed my mind. I don't want to wait, you see, I'm _bored_ and I'm _restless_ and I want. To. Dance. Do you see?"

More scrapes, and a thump as the recorder is clearly moved. It must be moved closer to Jon because his breathing is much louder suddenly, like the recorder was dropped near his head. There's a tearing of cloth and a protesting sound from Jon that he quickly swallows. 

"Oh, so many marks. Such a ruined pelt- oh, no, don't be sad. I rather _like_ it. It's... oh, what's the word? Ah, _character_! Yes, yes, look at all this character. I could wear it, I could. Wrap myself up in it while it's still _warm_ and _wet_. That's the best time, little Archivist. Yes it is. Can still feel the trembles in the skin.

"Don't be scared! Well, do be, no matter what this is going to _hurt_ but it may not kill you! Yet! You see, I really do want that skin. I want it so much, like you chasing you answers. So it- ah, don't move! You'll ruin my good work and you don't want that, do you? Well? That's right, no you don't. _Don't. Move_."

There's muffled sounds of pain as Nikola continues cheerfully. "So, here I was, waiting and thinking what's to be done, what's to be done? I can tear apart the pretty little Archivist and that will be oh so lovely, but it won't get me what I want. And I thought, why not ask nicely? Yeah? I mean, it couldn't _hurt_. So I'm asking, so nicely, so very very nicely to the whirl whirl whirling tape and the eyes watching it.

"Get me my skin and you can have your little Archivist back. So nice, yes? I-i-i-i-if you don't, I'll peel him and wear him instead. Fair? Of course it is! Pretty please, watching eyes?" There's a creak and whatever Jon was doing to muffle himself fails and he screams.

Again, Nikola tuts. "Come on now, we haven't even started! Oh, I'll give you... however long. Until I change my mind, again. Or until the Archivist stops being so very entertaining. Good luck!"

Click.

 

Elias almost does nothing. He's managed it before, to sit quietly and still and watch while his heart was carved out — it's in the job description. And there will be, after all, other Archivists. But he keeps mentally replaying Jon's screams, like a terrible earworm, and he has lived through the worst sound the world has to offer but this cuts deeper.

If he had the page, he knows, he would take it right now and hand it over to Orsinov and let the rest of the world go to fuck.

A Welsh lady with a jolly face and a pug on a leash actually stops and asks if he's all right, and he waves her away. He must look like he's having a mental breakdown on the side of the road — he hadn't quite made it home. When Jon had been kidnapped, he'd been at the office and he'd had people there to do something about it, to muster the assistants and check traffic cameras and call Daisy and the Police Chief and he Lukases and the Fairchilds and demand, with all the resources at his disposal, to know where that van had taken his Archivist. Eventually he'd decided to walk back to his flat, not thinking that there would be a statement — not thinking that it would be addressed to _him_ , a gift-wrapped ransom note of a recording and Jon trying not to sob in the background. Those screams—

He sits shaking in the post-twilight dew of the grass; there's going to be green stains on his expensive trousers. (So this is what Peter had meant. About what it is to feel the floor go out from under you when you didn't think you had any further left to fall.) However long. However long a mannequin-monster's attention span lasts. However long Jon's all-too-human meatsack lasts. Fuck. No. No. He is Elias fucking Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute. He is the Avatar for an ineffable god. He has more money and power at his disposal than most people in the UK, he has a building full of deadly artifacts, and he will not lose his Archivist to some Book-gone-wrong piece of plastic garbage.

Elias gets up, walks home with a measured, predator's pace. Fetches a book from the safe in his office and the gun from his bathroom. Drives to the Institute. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.

As he once told Jon, he and Beholding don't speak; if it's sentient it is only so in the way of Artificial Intelligence, the way a brain can be mapped down into electricity, ones and zeroes. It is every piece of information he has and the drive for more. It is hoarding, ambition, curiosity. Prophecy through probability. Statistics. Experiments. The organization of fact away from fiction. The reasons of the universe. An encyclopaedia of the human experience. And on the other side of that coin: the Stranger. The unknown unknowns. The opposite of science. He can't predict it, and he can't stop it without understanding it, and he's not — he needs an Archivist for that, for the knowing. So it's working in the Beholding's favour, to rescue Jon. (Whatever's left of Jon.)

He'd sent the archival assistants home, but Daisy is waiting there for him, outside the yawning doors of the Institute with a hand-rolled cigarette and her other hand on her gun; she's scented blood. He knows she'll try and kill him tonight just as hard as she'll try to kill Orsinov, but he needs her enough to ameliorate that risk. He brings her with him into Artifacts. 

(When he digs out a pack of cards from a box in storage, Daisy raises an eyebrow: "That? That's what you're fighting with?"

"No," says Elias, and pulls out a mace.)

This time of night it's about a half hour drive over the bridge and south to Morden. He makes Daisy wait in the car — "With the car," he tells her, "Or more specifically with our equipment, because I don't doubt some of this will draw the attention of certain entities while it's out in the open." And it's a lie because he knows if she comes in with him to Pinhole Books and meets the man who knows how to stand in front of the Eye without being Seen, the only other Beholding-touched worth a damn, if he introduces her to Gerard Kaey, it is an absolute certainty she will one day get her wish of watching him die.

Kaey makes Elias tea and reads the tarot for him: when they all come up a single staring eye he seems satisfied that the deck is real. They watch together as he burns the Leitner to ash, the flames licking up his tattooed fingers. And then he goes and gets a dusty old atlas from the shelves and pulls card after grim card, draws sigils across the map with a darkly soulless ink, and finally, finally, finally, gives Elias an address.

("Thank you for all your assistance."

"You owe me a debt now, Bouchard."

"I think you'll find that book was —"

"The Leitner pays for the location of your Archivist, yeah. What you owe me is for letting you leave.")

From there, it's really only a matter of bloodshed, and Elias has never exactly flinched from violence. Some of the people are the Strangers' creatures and dissipate into cloves and sawdust. But not quite all of them. So he's — something of a dripping mess, needless to say, when he walks back out to the car, alone but for Jonathan cradled tenderly in his arms.

(He's going to have to get his interiors reupholstered again.)

 

Jon recognizes the knife, oddly enough- well, not the particular knife but he's seen the type before. He's a child again, in trouble because he ran off and stuck having to sit under his grandmother's nose as she cooks. She doesn't always cook, some days she has trouble doing much of anything at all under the grief of things, though she always drags herself up with a grim look. She cooks today and she orders Jon to stay with her, like she usually does when he's brought back from another 'adventure' by the local police. She'll get tired of watching him constantly soon and it will all happen again.

She's peeling a potato with that knife, a paring knife, and he asks why she doesn't just use a peeler instead. The skin of the potato curls into pleasing little spirals as she turns it, and she tells him this does the job well enough. He thinks Nikola would tell him the same about her knife if he asked, and he's learned not to ask. No questions in her house.

Her knife peels his skin just as cleanly, he finds, that first long, thin strip curling like a spiral when she drops it near his head. He laughs, he can't help it, between choked sobs and she loves that. Tells him he's getting it. He tries not to look at her because that hurts almost as badly as the knife does. Almost.

He loses sense of time eventually- loses sense of a lot of things. He thinks of Elias and feels... odd. Melancholy, like he broke a promise. Nikola poking and prodding and remarking on the marks still on his neck is the only time he truly wants to snarl at her, fight back uselessly. She cuts one out on his collar in starburst, outlining and scraping and _digging_ until it peeled off and he's never hated anything more. He finds he wants to survive so he can _kill_ it. Nearly laughs again but doesn't give it the pleasure.

Nikola leaves eventually, when he doesn't have the energy or voice to scream as she likes. She presses what he assumes is a mockery to a kiss to his temple, just plastic against skin. She takes the skin she peeled with her, promises to make something lovely. He might be imagining that though, given everything was a buzz now. He's cold and he imagines that's the blood loss. Thinks of Elias, drifts and tries not to die. 

The next time he's truly lucid it's waking up on his stomach against soft sheets, the smell expensive and familiar and he almost chokes a sob at it. Jon closes his eyes, doesn't believe for a moment he's home until what he could remember trickles back- Elias and Daisy, blood and the smell of cloves, screaming. Elias saving him and Jon didn't have the heart to expect that, never knew when watching was more important than action. But it was, and he did. He buries his face in the pillow a moment and just breaths in the reality of it. 

There's long, thin strips of skin missing from his back now, he knows, starbursts the size of sand dollars ripped out here and there. His entire back is a flaming pain and he can't figure out how much skin she actually got. He doesn't care at the moment, let her damn well have it. He can still feel her plastic fingers tracing down the new grooves in his skin and his hatred is such a clean burn it's refreshing. He tries to pull himself up and hisses.

"Elias?" he manages, hoarse and quiet. Another perk of an all seeing fiance, he imaged Elias would know he was awake. The thought Elias saw any of the rest makes him shudder though, swallow down bile.

Elias doesn't need to be all seeing to know Jon is awake: he's right there next to him, up against the headboard in his shirtsleeves, reading an old and heavy book. It's almost domestic, except he's still covered in other people's blood, refusing to leave Jon long enough to shower. They've collectively ruined these sheets.

"Stay flat," he murmurs. The doctor had placed some kind of soft, flexible plastic mesh over the wounds after cleaning them, and taped down proper bandages after that, but Elias is worried about disturbing them. There's an area of undamaged skin at the nape of Jon's neck, and he rests his hand there lightly, warm and present. "Are you in pain?" He also has liquid morphine, ready and waiting on the nightstand: he imagines if Jon's awake the injected dose is wearing off.

 

Jon only settles when the hand's at his neck, exhales and lies back down. He reaches over and feels something tacky flake off Elias' clothes. For once he doesn't damn well care about body counts and curls his hand in the cloth at Elias' side.

"Yes," no use stubbornly lying about it, he just doesn't have the energy for that. Give it a day or two. He opens his mouth to ask a questions, hesitates out of some kneejerk reaction from his time with Nikola. No questions, yes, but he wasn't in her house anymore. He swallows and finally manages, "Are you... all right?" Was any of that blood his?

 

"I'm fine, Jon," he says, and the hand moves up and cards through his hair briefly. "Just fine." He's not seriously injured, at least, so it's almost true. But he doesn't want the focus to be on him right now.

"I've got something for the pain here — I can mix it with some water if you think you can sit up enough to drink, or I can inject it for you if that hurts too much." He pulls his hand away to retrieve things from the nightstand. "Fair warning, it will get you high."

 

Jon doubts either of them are anything close to 'fine' but can't fight it. Knowing Elias wasn't terribly injured was enough to ease him. Elias' blood wasn't what was flaking off under Jon's fingertips.

He actually considers refusing the drug for a moment, not exactly wanting the effect or worse, falling asleep. He wants to be lucid but each throb of pain feels a little too like plastic against exposed meats and he exhales before pushing himself up. He'd at least sit up for that.

It hurts, shockingly, but he manages and gets a better look at Elias in the process. He looked like a crimescene, not the body but the bloody, violent aftermath. Something catches in Jon's throat and he doesn't know what he feels about how Elias looks, what he did. He should be horrified in some way but another part of him is so endlessly grateful, near disbelieving. He tries to push that aside but it's thick in his tone. "It's fine, just... you'll stay, yes? Suppose you could use a shower though."

 

"I could. I wanted to be here if you woke up," is Elias' explanation for that, for why he hasn't showered. He tried, once, early, got as far as taking his jacket off before Jon made some delirious noise or another and he came straight back.

"It can wait until you're asleep again," he says, like that's an inevitability, measuring out a little of the clear solution in the dropper, into the tiny medicine cup, adding water. It's barely a swallow, but he has the rest of the water bottle on standby as it were.

 

Well, there's that rush of affection, only this time desperate and maybe a touch frightened. Jon nods carefully, takes the small cup and drinks it too, carefully. Feels nothing at first and expects as much, continues sitting stubbornly as if to prove to himself he can- maybe to Elias too.

"How did you find me?" he asks, less hesitance this time.

 

"Stories can wait," Elias answers, stroking his hair again. "Until you're feeling marginally better. Which shouldn't be too long; we're quite resilient, you know." Moreso than humans, he means. Jon's body has changed from channeling all that power on a weekly basis; he's getting better at taking statements close together, for example. "Will you lie down again for me please?"

 

There's a part of Jon that, even now, wants to stubbornly insist on the information. He knows he'll have to take a statement of it eventually, probably his own as well, because... well, that was what they did, wasn't it? It was getting easier to accept that as time went on. He wonders if it should be.

"... all right," he gives in, shifting carefully to lie with his back up again, though this time closer to Elias despite all the blood and mess. A small price to pay. He's quiet for a long moment before he speaks again. "Is it always going to be like this? Is that what being an Archivist is, just... being their punching bag or am I just-" he decides not to finish that, throat suddenly tight.

 

"We live in interesting times," says Elias quietly, "That's all." And Jon is new and weak and vulnerable, and the other avatars want to test him, and Elias was perhaps overconfident in his certainty that keeping him close would protect him. But his apologies can wait as well. "You'll get stronger, Jon, I promise."

 

So it was him, Jon's not overly surprised by the answer, even if Elias was gentle about it. "And being stronger means being less and less human, that's the price," he murmurs after a moment, the pain dulled in a way that makes him think the drugs may be working. Probably explained the floating feeling of his head. "You know, I should be disgusted but I keep thinking what she'll possibly do with the skin. It's mine, I should be horrified but... what could she even do with it? She cut off one of your bites and I don't know what happens to marks like that after the skin is... is dead? I suppose that's what it is. Just dead."

Hello, drugs and trauma. He chuckles and it is not a pleasant sound, reaching over to rub his face and muffle it.

 

"Jon," Elias says softly, not sure what to do here. All that knowledge and he has no clue, just keeps touching him lightly, safe places, the ears and hair and nape of the neck. He doesn't speculate as to what Orsinov is going to make out of Jon's skin. "Can I — do anything for you. Distract you somehow. I could ... read to you?"

 

The offer surprises him for some reason, and the chuckling thankfully stops. "... yes, that- maybe. What were you reading before?" He thinks Elias had a book when he woke up, squints and verifies that yes, he did. Probably blood on it now, which is a shame. Hard to get blood out of pages.

 

" _Liber ex Doctrina_ ," says Elias, which probably rings a Leitner-like bell with Jon, but nothing more. But perhaps it's the kind of book that already has blood on its pages, "Not really what I was considering." He puts it on the nightstand. "I can use my phone. Any book you like. What are you in the mood for?"

 

Sure sounds like a Leitner, and he knows enough Latin to wonder what doctrine the book had in mind. He ignores that curiosity for another, stronger one. "What books would you read if you needed distraction like this?" he turns the question around, of course, then exhales and tries to find a clean patch of cloth on Elias to rest his hand on. 

"I never really had a comforting book or anything of the sort. I always threw them to the side when I was done." He considers another long moment before offering, "I read _The Phantom Tollbooth_ twice in a sitting once. It was... whimsical that way. Double meanings and the like."

 

"Wodehouse, probably," Elias says, lacing their fingers together. God, he needs a shower — he wants to cuddle badly, doesn't want to get any of all this blood on Jon. "If you give me ten minutes I can rinse off a little." A quick splash and a change of clothes would do wonders.

 

As much as Jon's kneejerk reaction is to say no he nods, forcing an amount of rationality into this. The smell of blood was getting sickening. "Go ahead, then you can read your favourite of his."

When Elias gets up he does ask hesitantly, "How long has it been?" He feels like it couldn't have been that long, even if it all felt endless.

 

"They took you, what, about 4pm yesterday? I think it's past midday, but you've been out for a while. I didn't get you back here until late." Still, eight hours from van to home. If anyone was keeping score Elias would consider himself to have done quite well — except every minute he hadn't hurried was another centimeter of skin from Jon's back, so he isn't feeling very smug.

 

"Oh," Jon just blinks at that, a little surprised it was so short a time. He'd have a damn harder time doubting Elias after that. "Thank you, Elias," his tone goes quiet there, stripped of any sort of typical defense and sincere. "I never imagined anyone would care about me the way you do."

Then he blinks again, frowns. "I missed the meeting Melanie and set up." Fucking Stranger ruining his back and schedule.

 

Elias swallows hard, turns away to get clean clothes from his drawers before realizing he's going to leave blood smeared everywhere if he does, decides not to. "I think you'll find the assistants may be a little more in the loop," he admits — everyone had gotten caught up very fast. "Just... enjoy your morphine, Jon. Sleep if you can. I'll be back in a moment."

When he does return it's much less bloody, hair wet, and his pale skin much more obviously abraded; he hasn't got any serious injuries, just scrapes and bruises, but he's obviously been in an altercation. If Jon is awake to look he gets an eyeful while Elias finds something casual to slip into (probably sportswear, who knows what rich men lounge in.) But then he comes back to bed, lies down and insinuates himself close, so that Jon can lie atop him.

 

Jon's mostly dozing by the time Elias comes back, mind wandering in strange, drug induced circles that aren't particularly pleasant or particularly awful at least. He starts slightly when Elias gets back, grimaces at the motion but settles and watches. A shame he was in no condition to enjoy the view, and a shame the bruises came from something dreadful instead of something much more pleasant. The stray thought almost makes him laugh, blinking blearily instead.

He immediately shifts into Elias' personal space when given the chance, carefully maneuvering to lie on him. When he settles he traces a bruise with feather light fingers, feeling a strange disconnect from the situation and his body in general. "I'm very tired still, somehow," he tells him frankly. "Will you read now?"

 

Jon is almost too warm, as his body endeavors to heal itself, but it makes a comforting weight over Elias, and he exhales hard. He's careful, careful with how he touches, how he holds Jon close, but just being able to is going a long way to relaxing a tension he's been carrying for nearly a full twenty-four hours now.

"I will," he says, and does, picks a Jeeves book almost at random and reads it to Jon. It's funny in a familiar, comforting way, but he doesn't laugh, just reads until he thinks Jon is asleep again and then falls quiet, does nothing except hold him and watch the world around them, a little bubble of absolute attention. The housekeepers come and leave, people in the flats below come home from work, the assistants call him. Elias just watches.

 

Jon sleeps, long and deep, though some hours in he twitches and grasps at Elias, trembling against some drug and horror fueled nightmare. It eases eventually, and by the next morning when he wakes he's in pain but it's not the tearing, impossible thing it was before. He wonders blearily at it, feels far more alive than he did. He isn't sure if Elias really stayed with him for- lord, it must have been a good twelve hours at least. But Elias is warm under him and Jon buries his face into Elias' chest a moment just to breath.

"What the hell did you give me?" he asks, throat rough with sleep, still recovering somewhat from the screaming but grumpy in a way that felt comfortable. "Something most people don't have legal access too without grossly high amounts of money, I imagine."

 

Elias has, in fact, not gone anywhere — he makes a couple of calls while Jon sleeps so everything doesn't go completely to shit in their absence. But otherwise he just stays guard like their lives depend on it — but nothing happens.

"Morphine," Elias says, a little amused. "It's not that far removed from heroin." But slightly more legal. Still costly, when Jon hadn't even been to a hospital, and Elias hadn't been to a pharmacy. "I can give you a little more if you'd like." It's been a long time since he took anything recreationally but he is deeply tempted to take some himself, wanting to hide in that soft morphine euphoria and avoid the real world.

 

"No thank you, I'd rather not take any more of that than I need. Getting addicted to an opiate is very low on my list of preferred future disasters," Jon answers, reaching to run a hand over the side of Elias' face, cupping his jaw with a long, soft look nearly bordering on melancholy. After a beat his lips quirk minutely. "You didn't move at all, did you? You stayed here. You're... remarkable."

He brushes a thumb over Elias' cheekbone before sighing and trying to lift himself carefully. "I don't even know where to start with what a mess things must be now. Did my phone make it out? They took it- and the curry, nasty sods."

 

"I'm not going anywhere until you're well again," Elias tells him firmly, like he expects an argument even though Jon just looks touched. 

"I don't have your phone," he admits, though. "Or the tape recorder." Not quite as much of a blow; there are more at the Institute. "I'll get you a new one. In the meantime... well. Everyone sends their best wishes, and to get well soon." That is probably a very liberal interpretation of some of the conversations he's been having. "Lydia from Artifacts and some of the Board are managing the offices in our absence."

 

"You need to eat as well, you know," Jon points out, and maybe he'd feel able to try and convince Elias he shouldn't put his life on hold later. Right now the idea of being alone was far too much, and he grips Elias' shirt tightly a moment before easing.

The mention of the tape recorder makes him swallow, and he tries to ignore the tape inside and what Elias heard. He pulls himself until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to wince and bracing one hand on Elias' chest. "How much do they know? I think I remember seeing Daisy with you, but it was only her, yes?" The idea of anyone else running the Institute is rather... hilarious, honestly. Strange.

 

To Elias' credit, he doesn't react at all to Daisy's name.

"They know you were kidnapped by the Stranger, and that you're safe now. I left Melanie to fill in the blanks as to what the Stranger wanted — I don't know how much of what you told her she's passed on. I don't think it matters." But then, Elias is biased about what matters at the moment.

Jon sits up, and Elias' dangerous placidity cracks a little as he too scrambles to sit up — he's a little deadlimbed just from the way Jon was lying on him, shakes out the pins and needles. "Jonathan," he says carefully, taking Jon's hand. "I'd really prefer if you stayed in bed a little longer. I can bring you anything you need."

 

"She's clever, I'm sure she figured it out. Lord, I hope she or Tim didn't tell Georgie," Jon sighs, tries for normal and mostly succeeds besides the fine tremor in his hands. Elias takes one and he glances over, torn between stubbornness and wanting to ease the tension in Elias' careful actions by doing as he asked.

"I need to... I can't just lie in bed," he finally settles on, grasping Elias' hand tightly back. "There's too much to be done and I- lord, I don't know." He goes quiet for a few long moments before looking back again, expression shaky. "What happened? How did you find me and- did you see Nikola Orsinov there? Is she... is she still out there?"

 

Elias nods. "She fled as soon as she realized she was losing." Which probably isn't comforting, but he needs Jon to be cautious. He lifts Jon's hand, presses a kiss to it for a long moment, eyes closing. "It's late," he murmurs to it. "Or early. We can eat something, and I'll change your bandages." 

It's acceding to Jon getting up at least, even if Elias is going to hover over him for every step. Though he's not letting Jon leave the flat — he's locked him out of the lift again, though that was partially because Elias' hi tech fucking house key was also amongst the things Jon didn't have on him when Elias found him, so he's had someone reprogram all the security.

 

Jon sighs, shoulders tensing in a way that pulls at the skin of his back and makes him bite at the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. The skin is sore and scratched up from when he tried so damn hard not to scream as Nikola chatted at the recorder, when he realized Elias heard it all and damnit, he wasn't a brave man but he was a stupidly in love man and didn't want him to hear that, didn't want the last sound Elias heard from him be a scream and-

He exhales, nods, and finds it shockingly easy to accept Elias wouldn't be giving him answers for now. The answer about Nikola was enough.

He keeps his grip on Elias' hand as they move to the kitchen, leaning slightly on him and trying to decide if the relief of stretching his legs was worth the burning jolt down his back every now and then. He only lets go to take a careful seat, resting his arms against the table with a sigh. "At least I didn't lose my cigarettes and lighter. I accidentally left them here." Maybe the Web would have saved his ass if he was a good smoker.

 

Elias will never not be secretly delighted that Jon unwittingly uses an artifact to light his cigarettes now — it's probably the only reason he no longer fusses at Jon about them the way he used to when they weren't actually together.

Once he's certain Jon isn't going to move, Elias checks the fridge to find what food housekeeping has left for them — it's a pork pie, and roast potatoes. He puts them in the oven to heat, placing a bottle of water on the counter in front of Jon wordlessly and pointedly.

"I don't suppose you'd let me steal one," he says, because he hasn't touched them since he joined Beholding but he could absolutely use a cigarette right now. And an entire bottle of whiskey, honestly, but he wants to keep his wits about him.

 

Jon glances over, clearly surprised. "You smoke?" Or smoked, past tense, either way he's a little shocked. He shouldn't be given Elias Stoner Bouchard but there ways always something about these little things he didn't know about Elias that fascinated him. For a moment he doesn't remotely think of the echoing clacking of plastic.

He even picks up the water bottle absentmindedly. "Yes, if you'd like. You know I've been trying to cut back for your sake," and then, after an embarrassed beat, "I thought you may not enjoy the taste of smoke."

 

"Cutting marijuana with tobacco makes for a cleaner burn," Elias informs him, maybe a little amused just because he likes to scandalize Jon with his ~wild youth~. "But I haven't touched them in about twenty years." Longer, even. 

He comes around the counter then, leans on it from the other side so he can look at Jon, studying his face, his own drawn beneath the mask of pleasant banter. "The taste doesn't bother me," he admits. "Though I believe I could find a particularly disgusting statement about tar in the lungs should you like some motivation to quit again."

He nudges the back of the hand holding the water bottle with two fingers, an unspoken reminder. "Think you can make it into the balcony with me?"

 

Jon can't help an amused huff at that, because Elias' ~*wild youth*~ really never ceased to be a little funny to him. "Ah right. That would explain it."

He opens the bottle at the reminder, takes a long drink and does feel better for it. He feels jittery, a thin shield of calm with something scratching beneath the surface. A cigarette sounds rather perfect at the moment, disgusting tar lungs aside.

He pulls himself up with a nod. "Yes- they're in my study, if you wouldn't mind getting them. Lord, still strange to say 'my study.'"

 

It's very British of them, really, to be so polite and at ease when there's a howling scream jagged just beneath the surface — Elias is about the same, keeping it together only by long years of practice and the knowledge that Jon will not properly look after himself if left to his own devices.

He gets the cigarettes, and they go outside, Elias lighting two and handing one off. It's brisk out here, a sharp wet-cold to the air reminiscent of fog even though it's a clear night — the quietest hour, but in London that's not saying much, and there's a warm brown glow to the sky even now, the sound of distant traffic like white noise. A whole living city that is usually silenced by the well-insulated and soundproofed walls of Elias' flat.

Elias leans against the hand rail, closes his eyes, breathing out smoke. "Daisy's dead," he says quietly, because he's going to have to eventually.

 

Jon eases with fresh air and tar in his lungs, taking that first long drag until his lungs sting with it. There's something good in hearing the world again, and he spaces out as he rolls his cigarette between his fingers, thinking of organic, understandable things that weren't plastic.

And then.

"What?" Jon's tone is almost incredulous, like this has come so far out of left field he's not sure he even heard it properly. When it sinks in, when Elias' expression doesn't change, he stares with a shaking dread.

 

"Yeah." Elias looks over at him, eerily apathetic. "I'm sorry. Please don't blame yourself," he adds, "It was going to happen eventually."

But he knows that won't be enough, that Jon will itch for it. That he wants a statement. Elias just isn't sure he's up to taking one.

 

Jon keeps staring a moment longer, and Elias was very, very right in his assumptions because the very next thing he says with grim determination is, "I want your statement. Tell me what happened, how- how did she? Does Basira know? God damnit, _how_ , this shouldn't have happened, I-"

That thin British veneer of calm isn't going to last much longer at this rate. His hands are shaking.

 

"All right," says Elias, still smoking. "After you've eaten, I'll tell you. I'll even let you tape me — I've got a recorder somewhere in the study. Bit pointless," as all his statements are, when he doesn't have to tell the truth and the Eye has already experienced it all right along with him. "But I'll do it."

 

He isn't expecting such easy compliance, and he lifts his cigarette with those same shaking hands as he nods. "I need it... for the record," Jon explains almost helplessly, and he knows if anyone understands it's Elias. 

And it's with extreme will power he offers what he does next, "It can wait if you... if you need time."

 

"If _I_ need time," Elias echoes, darkly amused. But he shakes his head. "No, I'll do it. I wouldn't have told you at all if I wasn't willing to." With any luck the effort will knock Jon out again. Coping is far easier when he's asleep.

He stubs out the last of his cigarette, assesses Jon minutely, and says: "I'm going to check on the food." Make sure the house doesn't burn down while they're out here on the balcony. By the time Jon comes in again, it's served.

 

Jon takes his time finishing his cigarette, considers lighting another before putting the pack away and heading inside. He tries not to think of Daisy, knife at his throat or grasping his shoulder, telling him to focus when Sasha was mentioned. He isn't remotely hungry even if it had been- well, a long time now. So he'll sit down, force it down, wonder at the fine apathy Elias always managed. Thinks of Daisy in his hallway, telling him he'd need to be ready when Elias was taken down.

When he finishes he doesn't get up, placing the fork down and pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes. "Can you get the recorder?"

 

Elias comes around the counter, tips his chin up while he's still glasses in hand, and kisses Jon lightly on the mouth, something he hasn't really been allowing himself but wants too badly to resist by now. Then he goes and gets the recorder.

"Do you want to open with your usual spiel?" he asks when he comes back, clicking it on and putting it on the table in front of Jon.

 

Jon leans into it, watching Elias' blurry figure leave. When he comes back he puts his glasses back on, lips quirking tired and humourless. 

"Statement of Elias Bouchard, regarding the rescue of Jonathan Sims and the... the death of Alice Tonner," and he fills in the rest, watching Elias as he punctuates it with the typical, "Statement begins."

 

"The first couple of hours were just marshaling the troops, as it were," Elias begins after a long pause. "I knew Breekon and Hope had you, so it was a matter of following the van. I assumed, wrongly, that we would have some time, so I simply set in motion the typical resources at my disposal: money, assistants, research, the police.

"Then Nikola made her statement, and I realized we had a tighter deadline than I first thought. I decided this required no less than my personal involvement. I don't know how Miss Tonner knew I'd be returning to the Institute, but she accompanied me as I armed myself and reached out to one of my more dangerous contacts. I traded a couple of the Institute's objects of power for your location, a warehouse on a car-crushing lot out west of London."

He pauses, and for once feels it: Jon hasn't really compelled him at all, but the urge is hooked deep in him, to describe how he was feeling (backed into a corner, desperately dangerous) and what he and Daisy had talked about on the drive over (Nikola, Jon, the skin page, monsters.) He holds back, refinds the thread of his story instead. He'll give Jon the facts and nothing else.

"I presume it was their central set-up, as there were a lot of people there. Daisy wanted to make a plan, sneak up and capture someone for interrogation, but I'm afraid I wasn't interested in subterfuge. I had a few weapons to choose from — despite previous experiences I've always had a fondness for sounds of destruction. After ensuring Daisy would be protected, I walked into the Stranger's swarming hive and blew a whistle. 

"I'm afraid after that it gets somewhat difficult to catalogue. People exploded like wet water balloons. Others — well, they've been getting better at human anatomy, but perhaps not quite good enough. The transformed avatars, all sawdust, they were the least susceptible to the sound, so Daisy and I still had to fight our way through, Someone set a fire, though it wasn't me, and it too joined in the merry destruction. 

"When we found you I'm afraid I lost my composure somewhat, and confronted Orsinov directly, which she found amusing. However she quickly realized when she called for her servants that between Daisy and I she was outmatched, ghastly creature, and she fled — which was fortunate, as my use of the books of power were draining me and I was growing dangerously fatigued. 

"Daisy realized that I had burnt myself out quite quickly — she had a nose for these things, and like the best kinds of predator she was tireless. Despite that, she underestimated me — or perhaps I played a little weaker than I really was, just to see what she'd do. I'd been using a cursed mace and the whistle and book, you see, but I still had a gun. Not particularly useful against the Stranger, perfectly capable of shredding a human heart.

"She said she would kill you if I didn't let Basira go — let them all go. It doesn't work like that, of course, but I agreed, and made a pretense of doing so. I imagine then she felt safe to kill me. The moment she wasn't pointing her weapon at you, I shot her."

He takes a shaky breath. "And then we left," he murmurs shakily. "I carried you back to the car and drove you here."

It isn't like a typical statement, the ebb and flow muted and clinical. Still, Jon can feel it in his bones, the heat of the flame and the sawdust in the air, the picture painted in perfect clarity even if he had been too far away in his own head to remember anything of it. The faint memory of Daisy there is so much clearer now- gun metal against his temple, the quiet 'sorry, Sims' without an ounce of actual regret. It was the tone of a shark with blood in the water, sharp and ready. Eager.

He lets out a shuddering breath when it's over, doesn't bother to try turning the recorder off because it would decide that for them. He swallows, feeling drained beyond measure, even if the hooked and damnable part of him wanted to give his own statement in neat succession.

"Does Basira know?" he finally asks. He looks over, reaches out a shaky hand to Elias'.

Elias takes it, lets Jon hold his hand passively. "Nobody knows," he admits. "Except you now, of course."

Jon closes his eyes, breathing in and out for just a few moments. He knows he shouldn't lie to Basira, knows it's the worst kind thing he could do. He also knows it may very well be the best choice, and he hates it. "What are you going to tell her?"

"That Orsinov killed her," Elias says, without sounding particularly remorseful about it. "Between her death and your kidnapping I imagine our team will remove their focus from the unfairness of their jobs and place it where it belongs, on stopping the Stranger from entering our world."

 

"And I'll have to lie to her that you're right, or that I don't know what happened. I'll look her in the eye and spit on Daisy's name by pretending she died in some dramatic rescue, not for putting a gun to my head," Jon murmurs, staring at their linked hands. "That would be the best way, of course, because telling her the truth would... what? Have her try and kill you now that she has little left to lose? Drag her into despair over how god damned hopeless the situation is? That Daisy died trying to free her, rather than fighting the common foe."

He wants to sit back but Nikola made that impossible. "And I will do it, even though she'll find out one day and rightfully hate me for it. Even though playing with them like this is wrong, like we have to maneuver them like pawns rather than rely on them as allies."

 

"We're at war, Jon," Elias says quietly. That's the bigger picture, the reason he can't see them as anything but chess pieces. "We do what we have to do." Elias does what he has to do. That's just how it goes. He watches Jon closely.

"Come back to bed," he suggests, since taking the statement has had the intended effect, and Jon looks worn out.

 

"They deserve better," Jon answers, but doesn't say Elias is wrong. He wonders if he should find Elias at fault for all this, demand to know why he couldn't subdue Daisy rather than kill her. He knows, of course, Daisy wouldn't stop once she smelled weakness. He knows that might not even be why Elias decided to kill her rather than simply take her down. Maybe it was just the cleaner option.

"No, I need to make my own statement," he answers, glancing to the recorder still running. "Might as well, while it's fresh. It's just what we do, isn't it?"

 

Elias dips his head in understanding, acceptance, and then stands up. "Yes. I'm glad you're starting to see that." Or, glad isn't wholly accurate, but it will do rather than defining the more bittersweet emotion he's feeling, 

He comes around to behind Jon. "I'm just going to check your bandages," he says. "I won't be taking any off, so it shouldn't really hurt." Just lightly investigative fingers, gentle against the pink of unmarked skin around the edges of what's covering, then pulling back the edges of outer bandages to see if the wounds are leaking through or giving off any smell or discoloured fluids. As promised it's a thorough, handsy check, but not a painful one, and shouldn't stop Jon from recording.

 

Jon nods, knows if he could he would ask Elias not to listen to this but there was little point in doing so. Elias would hear it even if he was half a world away, he imagined. He'd have it in him wherever he went, at his fingertips, like everything else. 

He exhales, turns off the recorder, swaps out the tape and starts anew. Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding his capture and captivity at the hands of Nikola Orsinov, etc, etc. He does nothing to try and quell the winding daze giving a statement gave. He barely notices Elias behind him after a while. 

"I was thinking of payment when Breekon and Hope first threw me in their van. The details hardly matter but I'll give them- it was a warm evening, I just got out of the curry place around the corner from my old flat and I was... happy. That is why payment came to mind in the dark of their dingy van, though perhaps there's a better word for it. Equivalent exchange could do. 

I sat in that van and wondered if this was the inevitable fall to balance out how I felt just moments before. Well, not just moments, for some time before. At that time I thought that if it was it was worth the price and now... I believe I feel the same. Terrible, isn't it? But I don't think I can describe what the life I found is worth to me. Back with Jude Perry, as painful as the experience was I can't help but think it was worth the price. Information for my 'master,' pain for hers. A brief visit to the horrors of the sky for Crew's story. Even Daisy was allowed to kill a monster, in the end. Maybe not the one she had planned, but Crew's body rots on regardless.

Maybe that's why I had such... indignation at what passed. Nikola Orsinov got her skin, even if it wasn't the one she wanted, and what did she give in return? 

No, but there's an order to things and I'll follow it. The ride to wherever they kept me- some factory or another from what little I saw at the time - was not a terribly exciting one. I sat in the back of the truck and thought about payment, about... my fiance, and how it was strange to have someone who would keenly miss my absence. I tried to think of ways out of the situation and came up with very little. 

Besides me there was a box, too dark to see well and for a moment I wondered if it was that damnable coffin showing up yet again. It wasn't, it was smaller and strangely warm, exuding a sticky heat like humid summer's day. I considered opening it, at least trying to find a way, but everything in me- every scrap of self preservation and instinct - urged me away. It told me that I would be better throwing myself into the Stranger's maw than taking that chance, and I believed it.

Well, for some time at least. I can't say for certain if I wouldn't have given in eventually from curiosity alone, some pandora's box cautionary tale gone wrong. The van stopped before I could, and the two not quite right creatures calling themselves Breekon and Hope dragged me out into the night air.

They kept my head down as we marched, me between them and only able to watch my feet. I would have known we were close to the building from the smell alone- the iron tinge of heavy bloodshed, far too familiar now. When they finally did allow me to look up I almost wished I didn't, but I cannot say the scene was a surprising one.

It wasn't a factory of skinning and tanning, not the unending line of corpses being repurposed but more... personal. The tools were finer, the- the piece worked on more unique, almost experimental. It is hard to describe why the bloody scene felt that way, perhaps the smaller spaces or the fewer workers mulling about. I vividly remember one corpse in particular, one that looked like it was once a man before... before the skin was removed.

It was the texture that shocked me, really, the exposed muscle looked nothing like what movies or anatomy books would have you believe. It wasn't clean, wasn't... stripped down. The meat glistened, like simply touching the surface would break tension and ooze it all onto the floor. I remember feeling rather ill at that point, but still it wasn't the muscle or gore that caught my attention. It was the eyes, the way they were diced up with such fervor, so unlike the precision of the rest of the corpse. I remember thinking, distantly, that it was very strange. It was the first time I opened my mouth to question, and it went as well as any other time I did.

Meaning Breekon- or Hope, rather hard to tell - gave a not so gentle warning hit and informed me of the rules. No questions, not here. I nearly laughed, thinking what did they believe I would do? Even if I could compel one of them for something useful it'd only end the way those compulsions always did- information and a very angry monster. It seemed absurd to me, at the time, that there was anything I could do worth such a stern warning rather than amusement or irritating.

They took me to a room in the back, empty save for a metal table bolted to the floor, not unlike something surgical. That was the first moment I truly panicked, made a somewhat pathetic attempt to run and was slammed to the floor and dragged in for my troubles. They strapped me down and left, taking what little I had on me that they hadn't already taken. I won't describe the wait, I'm sure you can imagine it to some degree. At the very least I can say Nikola Orsinov did not leave her guest waiting for long.

Our first meeting I didn't see her, only shadows against shadows and the faintest smell of rot. She didn't bother the same anonymity this time, even though it took some moments for my eyes to adjust in the dim light of the room. She was... ha, I don't think words can describe it. Describe her. That's the point, isn't it? How do you explain the uncanny? How do you explain something that is uncanny to a form you've never even seen before?

Nikola Orsinov is a mannequin, and if that is the best you can picture then I've done you a favour. Whatever she is, it is not something meant to be burned into the memory of the structured human mind.

What happened next is already on record, in some way, though I am sure the physical recording is now lost. She made her introductions, again, explained that she changed her mind. She bustled about, found my recorder, and when it turned on she... she gave her own little statement. To Elias, to the Eye- I'm not sure which, and sometimes I'm not sure if the distinction between them is all that great. That's when she started her... skinning, the first long strip down my back. 

I- I tried, in those moments, to be quiet. I was never brave, but the thought of my last sounds to Elias being- well, I failed, is what matters in the end. When the recording ended I didn't have to worry about failing anymore, not like that. And Nikola enjoyed that, I do believe. She had quite a lot to say about the sounds I made. 'Like playing an instrument,' she told me when she... ran her plastic fingers in her work.

The gruesome details aren't important, she simply... skinned. Thin strips, small circular areas with jagged edges. She did it with a paring knife, of all things, a simple kitchen tool. It made me think of my grandmother, how she'd peel potatoes with it rather than a peeler, and when the delirious thought made me laugh she cooed, told me I was getting it, she was proud. She said it was a shame she'd have to gut me when the Eye failed, that she wanted to see what a curious pair of eyes could be shaped into it, with enough... care.

There's little in the way of solid fact I can give after that point. In stark description she tortured me, she got bored when I could no longer scream with the same vigor and left, taking what she carved off with her. I was in and out, I remember almost nothing besides screams, the smell of blood and sawdust, and waking momentarily in Elias' arms before I passed out properly. I was saved, to put it simply, and Elias gave his account of it. There's nothing I can add that would expand it in a meaningful way."

Jon goes quiet after that last word, silent for a long enough moment it seems he may be done. Instead he leans forward, tone quiet. "I've been thinking still about payment. Nikola Orsinov taking her pound of flesh, Daisy losing her life in the game of it, the spectacle of my helplessness and Orsinov's theatric cruelty. But she spoke, as she dug the knife in. 'Now you're getting it,' she said. Perry told me something similar, once. And I don't get it, not quite, but in all her endless litany Nikola Orsinov left a thread to follow.

The Stranger relies on being unable to truly be understood, on the unease of it, the impossible fear that comes from the unknown. It doesn't think as we do- as humans or even monsters- but in an entirely alien way. A stranger on the street is only terrifying until you know his name, his intentions. After that the fear goes to other avenues, and that unknown is forever gone.

She _let me see her._ On that damnable metal bed I looked as best I could into what she calls eyes. I'm getting the shape of her face. I'm going to get the shape of it, see it, and when all her intentions are laid bare- when she's finally understood and compartmentalized- that will destroy her and everything she holds in her plastic shell, far better than any violence."

He takes a deep breath, shaking. "I don't care what parts of me I have to twist to do it. I'll understand her. I'm closer than I've ever been already.

... Statement- statement ends."

And he presses his hands to his face as he finishes, taking deep, bracing breaths and trembling.

 

Elias is long since done with his back when Jon finishes, has gone to change the sheets of his bed; he's never done that as himself before but there's someone in him who has, three Heads ago, hospital corners, and he lets that man work through him so that he has somewhere clean to take Jon when the statement is done.

He picks him up again, after, just scoops him effortlessly off the stool and cradles him close as he carries Jon to bed. Sets him down gently on the edge. "Sleep," he says quietly. "Recover. I can stay with you, if you like." He's not sure right now, how welcome that would be.

 

Jon doesn't fight any of it, lets his head roll onto Elias' shoulder and breaths deep. He only properly moves when Elias makes his offer, reaching out to grasp the front of Elias' shirt. "Stay," he says quietly, whatever calm he had so thoroughly cracked it was amazing it hadn't simply shattered.

He tugs, no strength but hoping Elias will lie down beside him, and if he does Jon will curl up into him immediately. "Did she have to die?" he asks after a long beat.

 

Elias wraps him up — Jon's injuries are healing well, but he's still extremely careful with how he holds him, how much he moves. But he keeps him close, breathing in the smoky scent of him, stroking his hair.

"All things that have to happen, happen," Elias says simply, and probably he needs to believe that for his own sanity. Maybe it would be nice if he had something more reassuring to say, but he doesn't, his dark and restless mood persisting.

 

That's not much of an answer, and Jon is far too exhausting to fight for something more substantial. He wonders if Elias' has become human enough in their time together to regret the death- he wonders if there would come a time Elias would regret their time together if so. 

He wonders if Basira would feel better, worse or nothing at all, if Elias did regret it. "I'm sorry," he mumbles clearly close to sleep. Whatever Elias may say to that he doesn't manage to hear, passing out rather quickly given the strain of it all. Didn't even need more drugs to make it possible, thanks statements.

 

Given that was the only reason he let Jon take them, Elias is glad he falls asleep quickly. He stays and holds him, cataloguing every last aspect of their time together even as he forces himself to also pay attention to their surroundings again. It's wearing him thin, being so constantly on guard, but if feels worth it in comparison to what might happen if he wasn't.

Jon sleeps heavily again, and Elias only wakes him when he knows the doctor is returning, gets up himself to dress — far more put together than the gory spectre who must have greeted the poor fellow the last time he called. The doctor is a quiet brown man who doesn't ask questions, just checks Jon's vitals and changes his dressings, pronounces him recovering remarkably well.

 

Jon wonders at the man, at how anyone could be in a situation like this without asking questions. He was grateful, of course, the idea of going to a hospital was about as pleasant as chewing glass. 

He knows he's healing well because there was a faint itch to go with the pain, a telltale sign his body was knitting itself together as best it could. It would scar, it always did, and he had to wonder if that wasn't part of whatever changes he was undergoing. The scar Daisy gave him, for example, just a small sliver of white on his neck, was a shallow scratch, and yet.

He tries not to think about Daisy, asks the doctor the best way to shower or clean himself without aggravating, asks several other little things just to distract his thoughts. When the doctor leaves he stares down at his hands, Michael's scar on one palm, Jude's on the other. 

"I should clean up," he says, flexing his fingers, turning his palms over to rest on his knees. "Make a meal, call Tim or Melanie or... someone. Start getting things in order. Life goes on."

 

"I agree," says Elias. And then, reluctantly; "Would you be all right here by yourself? I also have a couple of things to get in order, and I need to call in to work. I can pick you up a new phone while I'm out."

 

Jon hesitates before nodding. "Yes, that's fine." 

The hesitance lingers after the statement, and eventually he stands, walking to Elias with a steadier step than the day previous. "When you're back we need to... talk. I- I'm worried, about you," he admits, and despite everything throwing him this way and that it's a simple enough truth he can't deny.

 

"About me," Elias echoes, bemused. "I'm fine, Jon. You're the one with the bandages." He shakes his head, like Jon is being ridiculous, and kisses his cheek lightly before heading to get his things together. "There's a landline in my office you can use," he says in passing. "Keep the tape recorder on you, and don't leave if you can avoid it. Sleep if you're tired. Drink water." He knows it's a list full of fussing, but he can't help it.

 

"Fine, fine, water, sleep and tape recorders," Jon agrees to, though Elias gets a truly epic stink eye. "I'm serious, about the talking. 'I'm fine' is overused and not getting you out of it."

 

He does keep his promise- stays in the flat, cleans up, makes food and drinks water and has the tape recorder close at hand. It all takes longer than it should, and he takes some less intense pain killers than the morphine when his back refuses to let up it's assault. Eventually he gets around to the phone, hesitating over this chore more than any other. Georgie, at least, was safer.

Or so he thought. " _Jon_! For god's sake- are you all right? Tim said you were kidnapped by those nasty mannequins, that your boss claimed he rescued you but then just vanished for days."

"I'm... fine. I'm fine, Georgie, hello to you too."

"Don't _hello to you too_ me, Jonathan Sims. Tim's beside himself, so are the rest of them as far as I've seen. Now the crazy cop is missing too?"

Yeah, he should have expected this.

Jon spends a good half hour explaining things, maybe not gory details and certainly not about Daisy's death, but enough that Georgie goes quiet and simply listens. Her tone is soft when she asks about him after, and Jon feels a wave of fondness that nearly makes him sick. She was lovely, her care was lovely, having someone outside of the Institute who truly cared was lovely, and it was more likely than not knowing him could kill her. 

"Please call Tim or Martin- yes, I've met Martin, he's a sweetheart and can hold his liquor way better than I gave him credit for. Anyway, call one of them, please?"

"Couldn't you just relay-"

"That's not the point, Jon. They'd want to hear from you, not secondhand. Even if it's just to tell them to ask me for the details because you don't have the energy to go over it again."

"I... fine. I'll call Tim."

He calls Tim. Well, to be fair he waffles over it and spends a good forty five minutes overthinking everything in his life and repressing before calling Tim. Yes, part of him hopes he'll just get the machine or Elias will walk in and give him a good reason to keep this short. Coward.

 

Tim answers with a tentative, "Hullo?" because they live in the kind of world where even strange calls are worth being paranoid about, and Jon isn't calling from his mobile. When Jon says literally anything, though, he gets about the same response that Georgie gave him: "Jon? Jesus christ, boss, you're actually alive." Tim sounds surprised and mustering towards pleased about it. "Wow. Elias said you were _kidnapped_ and then he said you were safe, but you didn't come in, and there's been all these people from other departments or whatever in the office, and Martin had a panic attack thinking he'd have to fill in for you again."

 

Damnit Tim, let it go to voicemail. Still, Georgie probably had a point so there was that. "Yes, yes, everything's... fine." Besides Daisy being dead and Jon missing skin and a million other things. You know. "And I hardly see why he's so concerned, he has enough help now to handle organization, doesn't he?" Still doesn't know about the taking statements thing lmfao.

"Well regardless, I'll be back in soon, or as soon as Elias deems me recovered enough. How is... everyone?" Basira, in particular, but he's not going to say as much.

 

"You hardly see why he's so concerned. Jesus." Tim is rolling his eyes and it's audible (is he getting back to his normal overprotective of Martin self lately? Yes. Probably he would have taken the bullet and done the statements if Jon was dead, so he can't deny he's a little selfishly relieved on that count.) 

"We're all right. The usual. But yeah, do come back soon, because Melanie told us all sorts but it'd be nice to hear it from you, you know?" A beat, and his tone shifts a little softer. "You did promise." And he doesn't hold it entirely against Jon that their work drinks turned into what they did because he got Georgie out of it, but he remembers that lunch room apology, Jon saying he'd finally tell him everything, and then... well.

 

"Well- all right, maybe that wasn't the best way to put it." Really, amazing deduction. Jon sighs, trying not to sound as tired as he feels for Tim's sake. "Yes, I did promise, and I will. That hasn't changed."

He clears his throat. "I do have a few messages I'd like you to relay. The first being I'll be back, etc, but the second being some matters I'd like you all to start looking into. Statements with elements of the Stranger, ones we've already done and catalogued. I want everyone to get familiar with them. Know the enemy, I suppose. I can get you a list of the relevant statements soon."

 

God, this is a work call. Why is he not surprised. 

Still, Tim's been a little better at his job lately, getting back into the bits he likes, which is mostly the reading and research. So going back to old statements is not the worst thing Jon could ask. "All right, which? Circus stuff, yeah, someone started a paper on all the statements with the calliope so I can ask for their list. And we've all... we listened to the Not-Them ones, or Melanie and Martin and me did, after, Elias confirmed — after that whole thing."

 

Everything's work if Jon's involved. The bit about the Not Them makes him falter, even if it's hardly surprising. "Ah, yes, did you get the ones Gertrude recorded? I'm not sure where her tapes ended up in all the mess."

He clears his throat. "Regardless, off the top of my head statement 0122204 has been confirmed, I also have a recording of-" Daisy, he falters again over that and quickly tries to push forward, "-of interrogating the being that took Sara Baldwin's identity. Melanie's first statement involves her as well, so it's worth looking at. In fact I have a few more recent recordings I'll send over with Elias."

 

"Right you are, boss," Tim agrees, somewhere between dry and fond. Then, slightly uncertain, but attempting casual: "You uh, you going to record about getting kidnapped?" Because that sounds like trauma central but everyone is dying to know, because they are Beholding after all.

 

Dear god, they really are his people. Jon could not sound more uncertain or unhappy about this. "I... do have a statement I've recorded on the matter." Lord. After a very long beat he sighs. "I can send it, if you think it will help. It probably will, that and my first meeting with Nikola Orsinov."

As much as he desperately hated the idea of this maybe, at the very least, it'd make them realize what they were up against, how dangerous it was. Maybe they'd be more accepting of his tendency to try and keep them away from the monsters when he could.

 

"Oh, you've already recorded it. Course you have." Jonathan Sims, ladies and gentlemen and so on. Tape recorder addict. Tim sighs softly. "Great. Yeah, send it."

A pause, and then: "Are you all right then? Really?"

 

"It's what we do, Tim," Jon replies, tries to sound dry but comes off a little defeated instead. The question surprises him a little, probably more than it should, and he stumbles through an awkward silence answering.

"I will be," that was truthful enough, he hoped. His tone softens. "Just... be careful, Tim. I have no idea what their next move will be and I don't- I'd rather we not lose anyone else."

 

"Yeah, yeah." Okay, dad. "Well um. Thanks for calling and all that. I may have — you might want to call Georgie, actually, I may have mentioned some stuff to her—" aka told her everything, probably via text as it unfolded and then again that evening. Sorry he's a traitor.

 

Jon cannot be rolling his eyes harder. "I have, and she's already given me quite the earful." Thanks, Tim. Still- "So are you two... together now?" Never too traumatized not to be nosy gossip.

 

"Oh, um," Tim says, "Yeah, yes, basically." The face he's pulling is audible. "Hope that's not too weird, me dating your ex and all. Though you're dating our boss which is way weirder."

 

"I already told you it's fine, and I hardly see why it's 'weird.'" Because Jon is weird and Georgie's too cool for school so yeah, no drama besides the spooky kind. The boss thing was absolutely weird but he's not going into that. "The only issue I can find with the matter is Georgie getting more drawn into the Institute's orbit, but she would likely be there regardless of dating you."

He sighs. "Just... tell the others not to go down any dark alleys or the like and I'll make sure you get the statements tomorrow."

 

"Get well soon then, boss," says Tim, and that's goodbye. Achievement unlocked: completed an informative phone call. Elias will be so proud when he returns — which he does eventually. With some groceries, and Jon's new phone as promised, and a new key to the flat, and a briefcase full of paperwork so he can play work catch-up at home. 

Once he's ascertained that Jon has functioned just fine on his own, he disappears into his office to get some work done before tea, claiming it's important, mostly just wanting to avoid having the conversation he knows is coming. But that won't work forever — he does emerge to eat with Jon, if only so he can make sure the man does eat.

 

Elias is damn lucky Jon was too tired to start hounding him when he got home, probably half asleep at Elias' desk before he gave in and took a nap, even if he brought a pad of paper with him to make a neat list of Stranger statements for the others to look over with him to bed. When he wakes he finishes it, tucks it under his arm and hands it to Elias when he emerges for food.

"I called Tim," he explains, taking a seat at the counter and resisting the urge to scratch at the edge of his bandaging on his shoulder. "I'm having them look into the Stranger statements so far, get a better idea of what we're up against. There's a few statements I have here I'd like given to them as well- and I'm giving them my statement on the incident with Nikola." He's still extremely uncomfortable with that, it's taking a lot of damn willpower not to change his mind. He continues crisply, "I mention Daisy's death in it, so they'll need to be told before they're given it."

 

Elias glances at the list of numbers and nods: "I can see to that." Tears off the page and folds it neatly, then goes to put it in his briefcase. Returns to finish serving the food — it's just soup and toast or something equally simple. "I've notified the authorities of Daisy's death, so I imagine Basira is being informed by her former coworkers, but I'll make an official announcement and condolences tomorrow."

 

This is almost disturbingly professional, even if the clinical nature of the feeling gave him some ease. That passes when all he can do is nod and let the matter drop, and he stirs his soup a moment before giving in and scratching at the edge of the bandages at his shoulder.

"I still want to talk with you," he settles for after a moment, glancing over with a soft frown. "I doubt you're as fine as you keep claiming."

 

Elias reaches across and flicks his hand, to stop him scratching any further — it's not quite a smack, just calling attention to what Jon is doing so he doesn't absently start peeling up the edges of his bandages.

There's a pause, then. It's not surprising, that Jon wants to talk, but Elias still needs a moment to gather himself for this next bit. "All right," he says. "I'll start. I confirmed today that the Lukas family no longer need a candidate for their ritual." This seems almost unrelated, Elias' voice moderate, looking off into his own flat instead of at Jon, face expressionless. "So I think once I'm certain you've recovered enough to get by here on your own, we should take — a break."

Totally fine.

 

Totally, completely fine.

Jon makes a face at the flick but it does it's job, making him drop his hand. The news isn't surprising but welcome, and Jon's ready to ask who the lucky new bride was when Elias throws that at him. He glances up, staring at Elias for a long, silent beat before letting his spoon rest against the side of his bowl.

He feels- he isn't sure, but the calm British veneer is doing double time as he asks, "Why?"

 

"You know why," Elias says quietly. "It's not just having you used as an answerphone. Tonner nearly killed you to get to me." It's thrown the vulnerability of their relationship into a pronounced light and he hates it. Hates how he feels when he looks at Jon now, injured as he is. "Besides, right now you need to focus on work and recovery."

 

"And you think time will change that?" Jon asks, his fingers tapping against the table the only clear sign of his agitation. "That I'm your weakspot? Or are you hoping I'll be less helpless by the time you come back?"

 

"Once there's no longer a direct threat we can reevaluate," Elias says coolly, which — doesn't sound particularly like he intends on coming back. "I think some visible distance is important right now. And I don't expect you to — wait for me."

This is such a bloodless discussion; Elias is a lot better than Jon at hiding himself, after all. But that last concession is difficult, since he's always been a possessive bastard, even before they were together. His only comfort is that Jon doesn't exactly date around.

 

"There will always _be_ a direct threat!" Jon's agitation bubbles over at that and he stands, the action so sudden and graceless it hurts like hell but, unsurprisingly, he can't bring himself to care. He sits back down, desperately trying to regain his calm because he's been at the precipice of an emotional break since Nikola and like hell that was something he'd be able to drag himself back from to have this discussion.

A discussion he isn't even sure what to do with. So this is how the others felt when he kept his distance, to some extent at least. He'd laugh but he heavily swallows it, exhales through his nose. "Convince me, Elias, if you're so damn sure this is the right solution. Tell me how throwing away the only good thing in my goddamned life will make everything better. Will it really make you happier? Or safer or- what, more apathetic? Inhuman again?"

He glances over, exhausted in every way. "If you can convince me it's better for you to walk away than I'll let you, without a fight." That was the problem about being stupidly in love, that maybe he could believe Elias would be better off without an Archivist that couldn't protect himself worth a damn.

 

Elias wants to argue that he isn't doing this for himself — that as much as it hurts it's going to keep Jon safer in the long run. He has enough trouble focused his way without having to contend with Elias' enemies simultaneously. And Elias could better protect him if he were more ... clearheaded, when Jon was in danger.

But he knows that would be an ineffective tactic — Jon doesn't care about himself. He cares, for some stupid reason, about Elias. And he's not sure he can say this is a good idea for that person, or what's left of him, without lying through his teeth.

Not that lying isn't on the table, if it's what he has to do.

"This isn't a negotiation, Jon," he says quietly. "You can keep the flat; you'll be safer here and I have other places I can stay. We can revisit the topic again once the skin page has been found and the Unknowing stopped."

 

"For god's sake, Elias, _answer me_ ," Jon tries, and there's some unfortunate compulsion that has his eyes widening as he gets up again to put some more distance between them. "I'm sorry, I- you don't have an answer, do you? Is that it?"

He stares hard at the wall for a long moment. "I'm not staying here. I'll stay at the Archives, if I need to focus on work so badly."

 

Elias is strongly regretting choosing 'talking this out' instead of 'just not coming home for a while', watching Jon move away. The compulsion is the usual sweet spark, as it always is, but it has no hold on him. And he has quietly endured the strangeness of Jon using it on him before, even if in this moment it feels like Jon just kissed him. For once that's written all over his face, eyes widened, neck a little flushed. 

"Jonathan," he says, exasperated. But he can't deny that the Archives are just as well protected as here, maybe moreso. "You can't sleep at the Archives," he mutters, even though he knows Jon absolutely does. "Put aside your pride for a moment and just — stay here. Your things are all here now."

 

"It's not pride," Jon answers, not petulant for once. In many other scenarios he'd absolutely be petty about all this- here he's exhausted and has no where else to go but the Archives. "Do you really think I'll be able to concentrate here? This place is- it's _ours_. I'm not staying here alone."

 

"Sentiment," says Elias, like the notion is foreign to him. He wonders if _he'll_ be able to stay here, or if he will have the same struggle, living in the cenotaph of their relationship. "Fair enough."

He isn't sure what to do now, what to say. He's certain a controlled break is the safest end to this, but he hadn't been able to envision it, what Jon would look like in this moment. "At least stay the night," he says, because the man is visibly worn out, and Elias has meant it when he said he wasn't going to leave until he felt confident Jon wouldn't just reopen all his wounds the second he was out the door.

 

"Human weakness," Jon answers dully, pulling his glasses up to rub at his eyes until the phosphenes burst behind them. He wonders what a braver man would do, maybe insist Elias stay or come up with some argument that couldn't be countered. But Jon isn't brave, or even able to protect himself enough not to leave a body count in the wake of his helplessness. He's tired and hurt and not sure Elias wasn't going to be better off. 

He puts his glasses back on. "No. Just take me to the Archives, Elias. I'll be fine." At the very least he could be stubborn and give Elias the clean break he likely wanted.

 

Elias looks like he's going to argue, but takes a deep breath, less steady than he'd like, and doesn't. "All right," he relents. "Let me pack you a bag." He gets up and goes to do so, a temporary and relieving escape.

 

Jon sits again, stares at the wall and tries to push whatever bubbles up back down. It's a surprisingly calming exercise, not pleasant by any means but rigidly structured. He wonders what Elias would do if he kissed him. He pushes that back down too, still staring blankly when Elias returns.

He notices and gets up after a delay, heading to the lift with a calm that he knows is more momentary apathy than anything else. It's a scary, empty feeling but it's worlds better than fear and paranoia and- ha, _heartbreak_. Excellent, he was heartbroken. Only took thirty years to actually love someone enough to get to that point.

He'll be quiet on the walk, quiet in the car and during the journey, staring out the window and wondering if this is worse or better for Elias, this creeping quiet.

 

Elias is actually a little concerned that he's broken Jon in some essential way. He isn't complaining or arguing or pestering Elias with questions, just blankly accepting like it's all pain due him. It makes Elias feel... guilty? Is that what this is? It's been a long time since he had to recognize guilt, and he doesn't like it any more than he'd liked losing control because Jon was in danger, or the hypervigilant terrorscape he's been lingering in since he took Jon home. Human emotion, as Jon had said. He's had quite enough of it.

It's after hours and the Institute is closed; Elias parks and lets them both into the building, walks Jon to the Archives — it's practical, in case he needs the camp bed set up or something else that could reopen his wounds. Elias can do that much, at least.

He puts down the bag of Jon's possessions. It's probably farcical, both of them refusing to acknowledge how much this hurts. Elias tells himself it's a manageable pain. Better than the alternative. "You know how to reach me," he says. Phone, tape recorder, drop by his office, etc.

 

Jon does need the bed set up, asks for it, still dull around the edges. He looks around and doesn't feel particularly safe, even if he knows it's far safer here than nearly anywhere else. Probably all the bodies he's found.

"Yes, of course," he answers, then turns to look at Elias. The calm cracks and he reaches over, to touch Elias' jaw, waiting to see if he pulled away.

 

Elias goes still, eyes widening, and then takes a half step forward into Jon's space, almost instinctively wanting to be close before remembering to stop himself. His jaw tightens, then, lashes lowering. "I'll be keeping an eye on you for a bit," he says. "But nothing should even be able to get to you here."

 

Something flickers back into Jon's eyes at that, enough his stubbornness outweighs his apathy. He presses forward, kissing Elias, not really thinking anything besides the fact he wanted to. Let Elias call it a farewell kiss, let it make it all feel worse when he inevitable left, it didn't matter for a split moment and that was enough. He was known for making bad decisions, after all.

 

It hurts, but Elias tips his head for it willingly enough, steps in close and puts a hand lightly on Jon's hip even though he sort of wants to clutch at his back with both hands, cling as close as possible. There's no lack of affection in the way he kisses back, pulse wild in his throat.

 

There is no damn way Jon's pulling back first, or at least he tells himself that, hands clutching Elias' suit jacket as if it can pull him closer. Eventually he runs out of breath, has to pull at least to the side and rest his forehead against Elias' shoulder as he tries not to shake and fails.

"What- what do I need to do to convince you to come back?" he asks, all the emotions he bottled before threatening to spill. No, he didn't believe for a second Elias would come back once the skin was found, or Nikola was dead. "What do I need to become, Elias?"

 

It's the most he's let himself have since he got Jon back, and all his desperate fear of losing him is right there in the kiss, all the gratitude that Jon is alive. When they part, Elias kisses his neck, a light press, not that far from the edge of the bandage at his collar. "I love you exactly how you are, Jon," he promises quietly. "Just stay alive. Find something else to make you happy."

 

"You were that," Jon answers, quiet, but lets go of Elias' suit. It takes some effort but he feels like if he doesn't now, if Elias doesn't leave soon, he'll probably end up breaking down and crying on his shoulder like a ridiculous spectacle. 

He sits down heavily on the cot, closing his eyes and breathing for a few moments. Boy were the assistants in for a few surprises tomorrow- death, horrifying statements and still recovering Jon holing up and pretending he isn't heartbroken. Just another day at the Institute.

 

Elias looks down at him, struck by a surprising amount of helplessness, before he pulls himself together. This is necessary, he tells himself, and with an: "I'll see you at work," he leaves, emerging pale and upset from the Archives and heading back into the night.


	12. the distortion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: The Spiral, in general.

Tomorrow rolls through just fine, the assistants curious at Jon's presence but assuming it's workoholism. Elias gets to realize belatedly that they no longer get to have a comfortable morning routine, is distracted for most of the day just spying on Jon for no reason other than to see him. 

But it's the day after that springs upon Jon very excitingly indeed. Specifically, there's a tall man waiting in Jon's office in the morning, at whatever ungodly hour he makes himself get up. It's unclear how long Michael's been waiting there. "H̗̲̩͕͕ͫẻ̻̼͓̖̂͂l̞͉̘̩̜̳̜̽́̄̈l̓ͫ́͌ͅo," he says pleasantly. "You're looking marvellously terrible, Ã͇ͫ̚rc͇̞͎͒̇ͪͅh̘̜͕͇̆ͯ̃ivist̯̣̀̊̎͋. Is it true you wanted to s͇̫̭̲̭̫͈e̮ͨͮ̔͑̓̓͂e̱̘͖̩̟̟̝̓ͦ̐̓̚ me? S̥̠͂̒͂͑̔ͨö̝́͆ͨͭ̒͒ fe̮̙̰̬̫ͪ͐͂ͥ̃͋wͬ people do these days."

 

Jon fares about as well as expected, spending what time he didn't sleeping going through statements with numb intensity. He practically locks himself in his office, refusing to see the assistants with the excuse he was still recovering, the Archives were safer to be and he preferred to be alone. It seemed to work, at least he wasn't bothered. From what he glimpsed of Basira he was sure she had her own emotions to work through.

 

So he gets himself up at an ungodly time that day, better to work with no one around and try to rest his injuries away when they were, hoping it's keep them at bay. He, of course, doesn't notice Michael until he's nearly at his desk, jumps back in panic and has his back hit the wall for his trouble. He hisses, curling slightly before looking at Michael again. Doing so doesn't help his nerves in the slightest.

"Wonderful," he says under his breath, straightens with a wince before regarding Michael warily. "Yes, I did, which I'm sure you well know since I've tried calling you several times." This would all be typically petulant if he didn't sound so completely worn down instead. Life isn't great.

"Would compulsion even work on you?" At least he isn't so apathetic that he tries that and possibly risks getting sliced up for his trouble. "I heard a statement, with you on it- or who you once were. An assistant of Gertrude's, is that why you hang around the Archives?"

 

"I don't really come when ċ͉̣̣̩͉̤͎̌ͩͧ̑͌alḷ̲̫̞ͧͅe̲̭͖̤ͭͭd̙̙̩̮͉," Michael says, amused. How does it even answer telephones, anyway, the tape recorder can barely hold up under the weird strain of its existence. (The tape recorder in Jon's office has turned itself on, of course, though Elias is actually right on the last pale edge of sleep.)

"You don't need to c̰̹̘̣͕̜̗͆̄ö̮̘̪̹̦̣́̿̅ͅm͈͒͑͗͂ͮͣ͊p̲̬̗̩̥̪e̿ͧl̮̹̰ͥ͂́̃ͥ̈́ me, A͍̋̾̐r͒ͧ̒ͅc̳̤̥͇hi̯̼͊̍vis̤͇͉t, though you're welcome to try. I think it could make for an interesting experience — it's been so long since I left B͈̣̆͋ͨe͔̙̩̩͓̳̱ͮ̆h̹̬̻̫ͮ͋̿̄o̠̘͔͕ld͓̣̳͕ͭͣ̑͑í̲͓̤͇̗̔ͧ̏̓͑n̟̻̰͖̋̍̓ͧͅg. So I think, if I had the capacity for nostalgia, maybe I would find it . . . nostalgic." It tilts its head like a curious bird, and then, like a human would drum their nails against a desk, scores the start of a pattern into the wood of Jon's with minute little twitches and the ugly sound of wood being picked at. "I like it here."

 

"So I've noticed," Jon says, about both not coming when called and Michael enjoying the Archives in some way. At the very least Michael is a good distraction from himself, mind already churning with a great many thoughts and questions.

He carefully takes a seat, less his injuries and more the caution of prey around a predator. He did not lie to Elias when he said he'd be careful. "Is there anything human left in you?" He asks, compulsion curling the words now that he was given the go ahead. Part of him is just curious to see how Michael would react. "That man I heard, is there anything that was once him there?"

 

Between Michael and the compulsion the air in here is just all static all the time; it seems to like it, though, smiling like Jon had done a clever trick. It is sort of just another type of distortion, after all. Or maybe it's because it thinks the permission and control are a pleasant improvement, or maybe it's just a meaningless facial spasm, who honestly knows with monsters.

"I don't know." Honest enough. "I'm not at all human, but I haven't forgotten. I don't ... really think about it. Except when I sometimes do. But I don't think you should want me to have much of Michael. He has every reason to hate the Ã͇ͫ̚rc͇̞͎͒̇ͪͅh̘̜͕͇̆ͯ̃ivist̯̣̀̊̎͋."

 

That gives Jon pause, and he knows rather suddenly he was going to take a statement from this thing. Try to, at least. The build up of static is headache inducing but the compulsion is still there when he asks, "What happened? What did Gertrude do to you- to... Michael?"

 

It gives one of its strange, overlapping laughs, all mouths and merriment. "You're still so charmingly obtuse sometimes." It finishes whatever it's been carving and then drags the seat closer, the legs squealing on the floor, the visible body of the tall blond man appearing to lean on the desk. There's the sound of clatter-scrabbling on wood even though its hands are still. Something in its expression is contemplative.

"You want me to describe the life of the Michael-vessel. A man who worked here for Gertrude Robinson, but then decided to join me. So I am him, but I am ... a lot of things. You've spent too much time around my brother, and his determination to remain an individual made of composite parts. I'm nothing like that at all. You want to know how I became what I am. I could easier tell you about the labyrinth before it was mine. The footsteps on those unthinking floors. I can tell you what it is to be a building. I can show you—"

It breaks off, tips its head, listening. Then reaches over and does — something, to the tape recorder. Something crumply and unpleasant. There isn't even a click. "That's better," he murmurs. Looks at Jon directly, his gaze like a magic eye, ordinary and flat until it suddenly wasn't and maybe wasn't even a gaze at all. "They were both desperate. Michael wanted to please her. What a strange thing, to need something so intangible. The Archivist needed a neutral party, outside Beholding. So I — volunteered. I don't think I'm going to say any more than that here."

 

Jon wonders if he's going to have to get the wood fixed, or covered, with whatever Michael's carved. He thinks it's more likely he'll have to throw the whole damn thing out.

(Then he imagines Elias won't be pleased by that, and his stomach sinks as he pushes the thought aside. He was doing so well, too.)

"What did you do to the-?" He exhales, about a thousand questions on his tongue that he tries to wrangle to the most important ones. "You won't say it _here_ , but you'll say more on it elsewhere?" He considers a moment, doesn't that feel like a trap. Still, it's a statement he finds he wants keenly. "Do you know where Gertrude hid the skin?"

 

Michael grins then, a friendly expression on that round face, but maybe just a little too avid. "You are getting... _so_ much better at this." 

That's not an answer, though, and it is actually being effectively compelled, even if it can't stop its combination of deliberate deception and inability to put what he means into words. "I do. Don't ask me where, though, Archivist, do not ask me that. I'd hate to cut our little conversation short." Emphasis on cut. It lifts a hand and touches Jon, a razor drawn across the edge of his jaw. It doesn't open the skin, probably barely hurts, but takes a layer of skin, leaves it pink and newly-shaven, a few whiskers of stubble drifting down to the table. "Someone could still be listen~ing... Gertrude knew how to make sure he couldn't hear, but I don't think you do. So we'll have to leave this place, if you want any more questions."

 

Jon goes completely still, as though a knife was put to his skin and- well. Somehow a knife would likely be less damaging than the things Michael used like they were fingers. At ' _he_ ' Jon clearly wants to ask, Elias' name on his tongue but he stops himself. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe he was finally learning, but he knew asking would be a waste. Michael made itself clear- they leave or the conversation was over.

And it couldn't be over, so Jon stands. "Then we'll leave, because I have a great many more questions. I suppose asking a notorious liar to swear it'll let me come back unharmed is an exercise in futility."

 

"Notorious," Michael echo-laughs, standing as well, and leaving without answering, expecting Jon to follow. Of course, if he does, he'll immediately see that they aren't leaving through to the rest of the Archives — this door goes somewhere different. For his part, Michael is immediately more relaxed; when the door closes behind them it stops existing, and there's just corridors. 

"Come on," it says. "Stick close, Archivist. It's easy to get lost in me." If Jon wants to talk, he'll have to do it while walking — Michael moves fast, too, perhaps moreso than is comfortable for a man with an injury. "Can I ask _you_ a question?" it asks, but doesn't wait for permission. "Why were you crying? It seems like a waste of time."

 

That laugh buzzes in his molars and feeds his growing headache, but Jon follows regardless. The door closing and _unbeing_ immediately puts him further on edge, though it's hardly unexpected. He follows, grimacing as he does. "Can't you slow down? Maybe you no longer have the traditional human body but some of us here still get tired," he shoots out, a flimsy defense for being what was basically a wounded animal in Michael's stomach. This was probably a bad idea, he thinks.

Before he can ask anything Michael blindsides him with that, and he nearly stops in his tracks. "What do- you came the other night, when-" Excellent, the monsters were now witnessing the crumbling of his personal life firsthand. Just what he wanted to be the cherry on top. He sighs. "It's an emotional release, Michael. Humans occasionally need to regulate their emotional well being as much as their physical."

 

To its credit, Michael does slow down after that, just keeps pace with Jon however fast he wants to go. After all, they reached their destination the moment Jon stepped through that door. Michael just prefers to walk and talk. "An emotional release," it echoes quietly like it's considering that. After a beat, it seems satisfied with that answer, and therefore offers one of its own. Or maybe many answers in one answer.

"She wanted to keep the page from the Beholding," it explains. "And so she found out about the one place that Elias Bouchard would never go, and then she found a way to make it loyal to her."

 

That was better than he was expecting, and far more promising of actually finding the skin than he could have hoped. A shame the answer brought him some icy dread as well. "Why? What was she afraid Elias or the Beholding would do that she- that she what, fed one of her assistants to the Spiral just to make a perfect hiding spot?"

 

"I volunteered," Michael says, the same word he'd used before. They take another turn, though every corridor is the same. "It was important to me at the time. I suppose it's still important now, for different reasons. When the game is won, all the pieces are reset, and I prefer things to go on into infinity." Like a fractal. "Humans are so precarious. A fluctuation in temperature, or gas molecules, or corporeal form, and they stop working. They all stand in the middle of warring forces, and if you tip the balance too far in any direction, it becomes... unsustainable. Gertrude didn't trust Beholding to maintain that balance."

 

"You 'volunteered' but you still said you have reason to despise Gertrude," Jon points out, glad that Michael slowed down some because he was already beginning to ache. He tries not to focus on the surroundings and that helps ease it, somewhat. "Is that why she tried to destroy the Archives? Because she believed the Beholding was dangerous to this... this balance?"

 

"Something like that," agrees Michael, a little sing-song. "And I never said I despised Gertrude. She was very important to Michael, and I will always be grateful for the help she gave me in becoming... myself." No, it just said it might hate 'the Archivist', possibly Jon has made a very stupid mistake. "What would you do with the page if I gave it to you? Let Orsinov take it? Or hand it over to Gertrude's killer?"

 

Yes, Jon is realizing that. His curiosity and nerves are always a weird combination. "Then... the Archivist is who you hate? Why?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? He exhales. "Honestly I'm not sure myself. Well, I do know I'll never let Orsinov have it. I'd rather die for destroying it than let her take it back," there's a flicker of hate there, strong still. "I think, more than anything, I was hoping it'd give me some clue on... on what she is. On how to understand her."

 

"Will you read it?" There's a childish delight in his voice. "That could be interesting. It would probably kill you, but it might not." They turn down another corridor, into a room of Escher-stairs and pillars, everything crumbling stone and hard to look at for too long. There's a door there. It comes to a stop. "It might be easier than destroying it. You need something very specific for that. I know a man who has one, but I won't tell you who. Because _I_ don't. _Like_ you. Archivist." It stabs him, then, just lightly on his left shoulder, almost playful if it wasn't for the sudden hot spill of blood. And then it's gone.

 

Jon has more questions, so many more questions, about what Michael just told him and Gertrude and every little thing he's seen he may be able to wring information from Michael about. But apparently Michael _doesn't like him_ , which Jon isn't sure is better or worse than being liked by the creature. He'd consider it further if he wasn't suddenly bleeding, yelping and pushing back and away, hand covering the spot and-

"Michael?" Gone. Of course. He lets out a breath, glancing at the door. At least there was a door, which was better than no doors at all. He hoped, at least.

He steps up to it, cautious before entering what he hopes will lead him to the Archives or, even better, to the skin.

 

The room beyond the door is entirely black and white. It is only a few feet across, but the depth of it is impossible to measure with the human eye alone. The floor has its own optical illusions, strange holes that seem on closer inspection to just be a pattern. A single light sweeps back and forth across the room. The whole effect is unpleasant.

The woman sitting at the empty desk does not seem much older than Jon, though there's a timeless beauty to her face and her short tumble of sandy-blonde hair is beginning to shade grey. She's wearing an elegant sheathe dress that could be black and blue or could be white and gold, professional makeup, and dangling, noiseless earrings. "You must be the current Archivist, Jonathan Sims," she says in a cultured accent that has a sussuruss undercurrent, like each word is made of the rustle of trees. Jon's ears will ring, just slightly, barely noticeable tinnitus. "A pleasure to meet you, truly. Please, take a seat." 

Was there always a chair there? Well, there is now. The furniture — and the dimensions of the room itself, all optical illusions aside — isn't that far removed from his own office, though distorted somehow, a poor imitation.

 

Jon stares a beat, wonders with a strange disconnect if the blood dripping lazily from his shoulder could even mar the the unpleasant patterns on the floor. He takes a step in despite his better judgement, eyes fixed on the woman. "Yes," he answers, walks over and takes a seat on the chair. His head aches but that wasn't new, given Michael.

"... are you supposed to be Gertrude Robinson?" he guesses, feels foolish for it but everyone already thought him the fool so why not. It was entirely possible- more than likely- none of this was real and Michael was digesting him as he hallucinated what he wanted to see. Answers. At least he'd die in blissful ignorance, if he was lucky.

 

It (she?) laughs, and it's the same horrible echoing sound as Michael, though hers of course has a feminine lilt to it. "Oh no, not at all. I'm afraid I never really knew Ms Robinson except by reputation — that's exactly why you're better off speaking with me, _mon doux imbécile_. There isn't much difference between the aspect you call Michael and I, as there isn't between one hand and another, but he does retain enough to hold a petite grudge against Eli for killing your predecessor."

It puts its chin in its hand, a likely familiar affectation, and studies Jon. "You may call me Miss Genevieve, I think. Now tell me, what are you going to offer me for my _page_."

 

Well.

Jon just stares, fingers falling from his shoulder to his lap. Of course, he thinks, he was in the Spiral's stomach, wasn't he? One of it's old meals would greet him.

He takes a shuddering breath when he realizes he hasn't in a while, and he's not sure if there's even air in wherever they were. 'Eli,' more than anything, strikes him. "Does... does Elias know it's your page?"

 

"No," it says. "He never knew where she hid it. But it's easy: The Archivist gave Michael the page, and then gave Michael to me. Like those little layered Russian dolls. I'm not sure she knew what kept him away. I'm not even sure if you do."

 

"I don't," Jon nearly chuckles. "Hell, I'm not sure I know much at all at this point." 

He sits straighter, studying her face. The room, the air, his growing headache- it all made his eyes hard to focus but he could see it better now, the shape of Elias in this... what? Corpse? Monster? Whatever she was she was not Elias' sister, not completely.

Admittedly Elias was no longer the brother she knew either. They both lost themselves to it. "What do you know about the page? Why is _your_ page so important?" There's compulsion there, and he doesn't care if he gets an angry monster for it anymore. These answers were worth whatever pain they wrought. "What kept him away?"

 

"Before this aspect of me became a part of ... what you call the Spiral, I knew him. Elias Bouchard," it says, not realizing that Jon actually already knows this. "We were twins. The Spiral wanted him, but it ... _settled_. Or perhaps it wanted a set. Mitosis is as much a living fractal as anything else. I don't really understand exactly what Eli feels towards me — one shade of fear is as interesting as any other. Asking for Michael to come and speak with you was the first time he'd contacted me in over a decade."

Genevieve is looking at his shoulder, a little distracted by the blood, but he's compelled it so it has to answer all the questions — so many questions. But at least it's an easy answer. "Why why why is my page so important. To Michael, as he was before he was me, it's because it was his duty to hide it. To Ms Robinson, I think because she worried it would hurt people, that's the sort of thing she cared about. To Eli... I'm only speculating, but I imagine he wants to add it to all the other objects of power. Do you collect anything, Archivist? It's such a silly hobby. Having things just to have them."

"And to you, well, you told me just before you came in. You think it will give you answers." A little smile. "Sweet fool. Do you find this frustrating, that I do not answer you directly? I have no answers for you, Archivist. I only have the page."

 

"He... loves you, or did once," Jon answers, and look at him, knowing something. He hesitates. "I suppose it's presumptuous of me to assume it but... he still has your picture- her picture. If that means anything."

He nearly chuckles again, pushes his glasses up to rub his face and then his temples. He forgot about the blood on his hand, smears it over his eyelid then wipes at the mess with the back of his hand and a huff. "You are like him, lord... he takes endless delight in my frustration too. Yes, I am frustrated, because it's always one step forward and two steps back."

Jon fixes his glasses, regarding her intently again. "Michael said I could die reading the page, is there any way to stop that from happening?" he pauses, then exhales. "I suppose the real question I should ask is if you'll give me the page."

 

It looks very slightly moved by this profession of Elias' love, but it's hard to tell what's real and what's another layer of deception. For instance: it then opens a desk drawer, takes out a manila envelope like the ones the Institute uses. Whether it's a parody or whether it's trying to make him comfortable in this headache of a place isn't clear.

"What will you give me for it, Archivist? _Donnant donnant_."

 

And, of course, it comes down to payment. Jon is not remotely surprised. He nearly makes a comment about negotiation running in the family, and decides to hold his tongue instead.

"What would an agent of the Spiral even want?" he asks, and hopes whatever it is will be something he's actually willing to give. "You know what I am. I have information and access to it, if that will do."

 

"The things you know are all truths," it says dismissively, "That doesn't interest _me_. Ah, what do you get for the girl who has everything. More toys, perhaps? This aspect would still like to be reunited with her brother." It makes entreating eyes at him, or perhaps what it hopes passes for them. "But a little bird tells me you have _assistants_. Perhaps one of them is tired of the Eye?"

 

"No," Jon says immediately, nearly getting out of his chair. "My assistants are off the table. Maybe Gertrude was willing to barter them but I am not. I'll leave empty handed before doing so."

Or die here, but he's trying to be hopeful. "If you want to see Elias again I may be able to arrange that, but I have the feeling a heartfelt meeting isn't exactly what you have in mind." Lord, why did all the powers have to be so... what, monstrous? He considers for a long moment before glancing up again. "What about one of the Stranger's puppets? Have you ever seen what they would do in your halls? I have need to find and... _question_ one myself, whether I get this page or not. You may certainly have it when I'm done."

Assuming he survived _that_ , not only managing to catch one again without Daisy but properly process a statement from a creature that's thoughts were sawdust and dead flesh. Again, hopeful optimism, truly.

 

Genevieve shifts suddenly, and all it does is place its hand on the wood of the table but there's a sound like the wood was just stabbed with half a dozen knives at once. It leans forward.

"Can you give me the ringmaster?" it says, inhuman in its excitement and glee. "Can you give me Nikola Orsinov?" Pretty _pretty_ please, Jon. If it had any disappointment at being denied assistants, that has passed quite quickly indeed.

 

Jon, for a moment, worries at something other than the rush of nearly bloodthirsty eagerness to agree. That he can understand, as unpleasant as it is. What concerns him is the bloom of curiosity, to see what the Spiral would do with such an interesting new toy.

He doesn't let himself dwell on it, for now. "Yes, I can," he answers, and feels shockingly calm about it. As though he actually had a chance to defeat her, let alone capture her. "Though she may be somewhat _disassembled_ by the time she gets to you."

 

"I have all the king's horses and all the king's men," Genevieve says, pleased as punch. It looks more like Elias when it's happy, though the age and sex differences are still numerous. "I can see you mean it. How lovely. I don't think you want to shake on it." Because of the knives, ha ha. "But I hope you understand that I won't accept any excuse for failure short of your death."

That said, it slides the envelope across the table. Taps the back of Jon's hand with something sharp before he can reach for it. "Don't read it here. Don't even open it here. And perhaps take precautions where you do open it, if you don't want my brother to see."

 

"If I fail she'll likely be wearing my skin when you see Nikola Orsinov next," Jon agrees, shaken by the similarities to Elias in that moment of happiness. Lord, he had so many questions he knows she'd never answer. He swallows them down, pulls his hand away at the tap.

She had a point. "I don't... know how to stop him from seeing me," he admits. "I think, at least, the tunnels are something of a blindspot. I'll read it there."

Not that Elias wouldn't see him going into the tunnels, which would mean he wouldn't have much time. He sighs and reaches for the envelope. "I am going to tell him about you, you know. I don't know what he'll do with the information."

 

"Remove the eyes," it tells him. "Real ones, mechanical ones, photographs, pictures. He's probably drawn some in your office. Know how to store your tape recorders so that they only hear what you want. Create probable routines, and then break them." A crash course in deceiving Elias, probably almost more useful than the page. "Ms Robinson had one of my books, _Through the Labyrinth_ , she could make him see what wasn't there, or go undetected. And she knew when he slept — infrequent as that was."

 

That would explain Gertrude's flat. He nods, feeling uneasy with the knowledge, and stands. He had the distinct feeling he was beginning to overstay his welcome, if he ever had a welcome at all.

He certainly knew when Elias slept, and he nearly says as much. Instead he clears his throat. "Then I'll be on my way. Elias may still be sleeping, assuming time has moved the way it should." He glances at her, tucking the envelope under his arm. "Shall I just expect you to know when I've caught Orsinov or will I have to rely on Elias again to contact you?"

 

"Maybe you should find your own way," it suggests lightly. There's a door waiting behind him, one that will spit him out into the now-familiar tunnels beneath the Institute. Probably it's a relief just to have something normal to look at, though he'll have to use his phone to light the way.

 

For Elias' part he is not, in fact, asleep; woke up a few moments before Michael broke the tape recorder. He's since visited Jon's office, and if he was frantic at first the pattern on his desk did calm him a little — they had arranged this meeting, after all.. So he's retreated to his own office to work away the morning, keeping an eye on Jon's for his return from wherever he's gone, quietly and coldly furious that the Archivist would be stupid enough to leave the Eye's watchful gaze.

 

Jon never thought he'd be glad to see the tunnels, of all things, especially given a possibly still alive and very angry monster that nearly killed him could still be around. Regardless, the tunnels were out of Elias' gaze and it gave him a moment to stop and look down at the envelope in his hands.

In truth he didn't want to hide the page from Elias, found the idea of lying to him unpleasant and too similar to the path Gertrude took. The problem was, even assuming the best of Elias' intentions, he was fairly certain Elias would not agree with his plan to read the page and possibly to the point of forcefully taking it. Michael made it clear it would be a dangerous thing to do, and Elias would likely see the gamble as foolish. Maybe it was, but it felt necessary. While Jon wasn't necessarily against Elias taking the page and hiding it, even if Jon preferred the idea of destroying it, reading the page was something he was determined to do.

And he could do it here, right now, but that was more foolish than even he was willing to risk. He needed to at least physically recover, if not mentally prepare for it. He needed contingencies if things went wrong, to make sure his assistants were prepared if the worst did happen.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. One step forward, two steps back, etc. Lord, he was tired.

He ends up tucking the envelope in his belt and letting his shirt cover it, climbing back into the Institute. He knew the Archives like the back of his hand, so it's not too difficult to map out a blind spot, hiding the envelope in folder under the guise of pulling out some statements. He heads back to his office afterwards, hoping Elias was still asleep and the subterfuge was unnecessary. Probably not, with his luck.

He also takes time to make a face at the pattern Michael drew as he slapped the folders onto his desk and took a seat with an exhausted sigh. If he needed stitches again from Michael's stupid knife hands he was not going to be pleased about it. Maybe he should tip the doctor he's been seeing, the poor man had to deal with some truly stupid shit. 

Elias doesn't even knock, just comes straight in, a little wild-eyed and white-lipped despite himself, despite the fact that Jon is all right. "You're bleeding," he says like an accusation, but he's also got a first aid kit in his hand so obviously he's been watching Jon since he noticed him climbing out of the tunnels.

He puts it down sharply on the table, and this isn't his kitchen but it probably still has echoes of a much earlier time between them when he says, "Shirt," and opens it: more bandages to add to Jon's growing collection.

 

"Elias..." Jon greets, more than a little awkward given the entire situation. He has the good grace to seem somewhat sheepish, not enough to offer any apology yet but yes, he didn't exactly want to worry Elias unduly. Even if they were 'on a break,' lord preserve them.

It does feel strangely like the kitchen all that time ago, what felt like a lifetime. He's not shy about losing his shirt this time though, just glances at Michael's little goodbye stab with annoyance before looking back to Elias. God, he missed him.

"You were aware this meeting would happen eventually," he does try when the quiet gets to him.

 

Elias doesn't warn him that the antibacterial wipes will sting, just tears one open and cleans the blood away, though despite his rough movements his touch is gentle. "You _went with him_ ," he says, a raw edge in his voice. "I wasn't sure you were going to come back." It's not like it would be the first time he'd stood by and watched as someone he loved was eaten by the Spiral. He's been suppressing the terror of almost losing Jon for days now, and then he'd just gone and wandered carelessly out of sight. "You're such an idiot," he adds, a little choked, applying butterfly stitches over the narrow cut.

 

Jon grimaces at the wipe, though he feels much worse for the tone of Elias' voice. Looking at him closely after seeing Genevieve is... unpleasant, in some way. He wonders if anything of Elias' sister really was in that strange shell that bartered with him. Elias' humanity remained, despite it all.

"I'm sorry," he offers, quietly and sincerely. He hesitates before reaching to touch Elias' wrist. He still wasn't sure what was allowed here. "Recent events haven't been particularly kind with sore spots, have they?" Not with Elias, at least.

 

Elias lets it happen, but not for long; the wound is still bleeding sluggishly and he wants to bandage it. Just something to soak the blood and a plaster to keep it in place. The focus on Jon's injury is centreing, and the apology does help a little, thawing his frosty anger. But he doesn't speak again, not sure what will come out of his mouth.

When it's done, he sits back against Jon's desk, uses an antiseptic wipe to clean the blood from his fingers carefully, watching Jon. Drinking him in. Maybe Jon had anticipated having to deceive, but for once Elias doesn't even care what he experienced, just that he came back. He's shaking a little, professionalism too badly damaged to hold up.

"You should probably go and get a clean shirt," he manages.

 

Jon flounders over what to do, glancing away and to his now bloody shirt with a grimace. Elias looked far too... too unsettled to even think of mentioning Genevieve, so he dismisses that for the moment. Hopefully Elias wouldn't be too cross that he didn't mention it immediately- not that most of his plans centred around Elias being cross.

He nods though when he gets up he doesn't mover further, staring Elias down with a furrowed brow. He steps forward because professionalism was already damned, and Elias looked like he needed bracing. He wraps his arms around Elias' neck and shoulders, closing his eyes.

 

Elias sucks in a short breath and then gives into it almost immediately, pushing his face into the undamaged junction of Jon's neck and wrapping both arms around his waist, holding him close. Curses softly, muffled. He'd carried around worry and fury all morning and now it has just melted all away, and he's left with only aching and the sensation that he might be about to cry for the first time in years and years.

"I don't know how to keep you safe," he admits miserably. Pushing him away hasn't worked, hasn't made it any easier to bear the thought of losing him, hasn't kept Jon from the precarious thick of it.

 

There's a damnable part of Jon that's eager for the proximity despite what brought it on, soaking it up as greedily as he ever did, perhaps more so now that it had been snatched away. He runs a hand up Elias' neck, cupping it, closes his eyes tighter. Hates that Elias pushed him away but damn well understands it too keenly to ever actually hate him for the action or even blame him.

"You might not be able to," he says quietly. "We're all just stuck damn well doing or best and hoping it will be enough."

 

"I can't lose you," Elias says, quiet but fervent. "I can't. I don't know what I'd become." Which is probably the first time he's ever expressed discomfort at the inhuman parts of him. He swallows hard, clutches Jon as tight as he dares considering his injuries. It's a far cry from the cool composure with which he's outlined the logical reasons they should be apart.

"I missed you yesterday," he admits, presses a gentle kiss to the side of Jon's throat.

 

The comment makes Jon's stomach sink, because he knows without a doubt Elias will be opposed to his plan for the page and going through with it without telling him was certainly a betrayal of sorts. He presses closer, tries to push the thoughts aside for now because there was more than enough to worry about.

"I missed you as well, if my reactions weren't obvious enough," he tries to say dryly but it comes out a little thickly. He swallows and continues. "I'm sorry, I- I want to be stronger, be _better_ at this so you don't have to lose me in such inane ways as walking home with damn curry. I don't know how to do any of this without taking risks."

 

Elias breathes in wetly. "At least then my last memories of you would have been lovely ones," he says, pressing a slow line kisses up to beneath Jon's ear, one dropped every few words. "You walked into Michael's door and all I could think was that I might have just spent our last days together working out how to leave you because I was frightened of - of how I felt. What it was like to have someone point a gun at you and tell me I had to do what they said or you'd die."

 

"Given being human again is rather new to you I can't say the reaction isn't understandable," Jon answers, a knot in his chest slowly releasing. He pulls back enough to cup Elias' face, voice raw and unsteady. "Please take the risk of it with me. Waking up alone has been- I don't want to live the way I did before. I don't want to live like this or lose you when you're _right there_."

He runs his thumbs over Elias' cheekbones, trying again for something approaching composure and shaking instead. "Michael apparently saw me crying, for god's sake. My aloof reputation will be ruined at this rate."

 

Fuck, he made Jon cry — not in a fun way. And Elias feel like he's going to sob too in a minute, is forcing it back down his throat. All the emotions he's been refusing to acknowledge trying to catch up with him in a rush. He gets grim with it, prickly suddenly, refusing to break down in front of anyone else, even Jon. Closes his eyes.

"I—" he manages, stops and takes a breath, trying to get himself together. Probably he shouldn't just keep avoiding feeling his feelings like this. But it works, and his voice is a little steadier when he tries again. "I thought it would be easier. A — controlled loss, of our own choosing, rather than—" he voice cracks, and when he opens his eyes they're stinging wet, fuck fuck fuck. He tries to get out the essential points in a rush. "I take it back, I take it all back, come home with me please." Tries to pull away because this is too intense and he _can't_.

 

Jon doesn't let him pull away, at least goes back to wrapping his arms around him and closing his eyes to give Elias the illusion of privacy or not seeing. There's a lump rising in his own throat, a fine trembling in his frame, a clash of relief and something overwhelming and sharp.

"Of course. Of course, I never wanted to leave you- you damnable fool," he murmurs, burying his face into Elias' shoulder a moment, eye getting wet despite himself. Two grown monsters near tears in his office, what a world. "Let's.... let's just go home, please. All this mess will be here tomorrow."

 

Oh no he's going to cry on the bare skin of Jon's shoulder, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him in his life. He wants to flee, struggles a little like a trapped animal and then gives into it with hurt little inhales.

"Goddammit," he manages, all stuffed up and sounding annoyed at himself. "Really, just, give me a moment, I can't leave here like this. Go and - and get your things." He's pulling away again, all flushed with tears and humiliation, wiping his eyes clear with the heel of his palm and taking in a long, shaky breath, sniffing. That's more than enough tears for a semi-public place, thanks. At least he seems to agree about going home, though it's mostly because he thinks Jon needs the rest.

 

Jon lets him this time, nodding, not sure if he should be glad Elias was letting something out for once or concerned. He does take Elias' hand, presses a shaky kiss into his palm before heading to get his things. 

Of course he runs into Melanie on his way, with his bloody shirt in hand and bare chested otherwise. Her brow raises, "I know you're staying here but maybe wear- is that blood?"

He desperately hopes his eyes aren't red. Thank god Elias didn't come out with him. "It's a long story, Melanie, I'll explain tomorrow. For now I'm going home- no more staying at the Archives."

"Good? No offense but you moping about was distracting. God, I thought working on youtube was dramatic," Melanie tells him, then hesitates. "Uh, look, if you need to... _talk_ , or whatever-"

"... thank you, Melanie. That won't be necessary though," Jon's sincere, though he can tell Melanie is just as relieved as he is that there will be no feelings chats. He escapes to the room with his things and the cot, changes into his shirt, feels a little steadier as he takes a few moments just to breath. He grabs his things and head back to his office, knocking softly before heading in.

 

Elias seems much more put together when he opens the door, having effectively repressed all his feelings, for now at least. He still looks pale, drawn, but it should be a good enough mask to get him out of the office and home, which is all he wants. 

He explains to Rosie that he's going to take Jon home because his wounds are affecting him, that he'll be working from home and to forward all calls, so on and so forth. Cuts off any attempt to chat, but brusque and cold isn't exactly unusual for Elias, and after he collects some paperwork from his office it isn't long before they're in the car driving back to the flat. Elias focuses on the road, rather than Jon.

 

Jon leans forward in the car, resting his temple against the window and stewing quietly. After a beat he says, "I met Genevieve, or whatever it is she's become." He feels a bit bad for springing that on him, but the longer it went the worse he felt for not saying anything. 

"I know you have enough to work through but I couldn't- keeping that from you any longer felt malicious."

 

Well that is certainly a distraction, to an almost dangerous degree in London's midday traffic. It's lucky Elias doesn't live far — still, he looks startled over at Jon for longer than he should before wrenching his gaze back to the road. It's not a startlement borne of finding out she isn't dead.

"I see," he manages. Except he hadn't, had he. Jon had been out of his sight in a way nothing like his time in the Isolation-pocket, a place he had absolutely no control over. If Elias had nightmares, he'd have them about that warped and twisted maze. "Thank you for telling me, then."

He doesn't say anything else until they reach the parking garage, though he seems ruminative enough, like he's thinking about it. "I want you to tell me everything that happened in there. But not — yet. Give me the afternoon, at least."

 

Jon expects as much, glancing over to watch his reaction, wishing any of this was easier or softer of a blow. Telling him everything- he's really not sure if he can do that. He's still not sure what to do about the page.

He hesitantly nods. "I won't make a statement, not this time, but I'll tell you what happened," he decides upon. If he ended up lying to Elias- well, that was something he'd have to deal with when the time came. 

He gets out of the car, heads to the lift and starts feeling a little dead on his feet after everything. He reaches over to take Elias' hand, hoping the contact was a soothing reminder, or at the very least welcome. "What do you need right now?"

 

"You, in my bed," answers Elias boldly, and then corrects himself: "Our bed." Because there's no point in pretending that's not what it is. He isn't strong enough to keep Jon at arm's length, even if that dooms them both.

He squeezes Jon's hand, unspeakably grateful for it, won't let go easily. "You look like you could use a nap," he explains. Sure, it's the middle of the day, but they were both up stupidly early this morning, and more importantly he just wants to hold Jon quietly for a little while. Maybe nothing more, despite the connotations of hauling Jon off to bed; he's still worried about Jon's injuries.

 

The statement makes Jon huff an amused breath, looking to Elias tired but fond. "Shameless. That's what I've come to expect," shameless and trite, that was Elias. 'Our bed,' and that was true too. When the lift opens he murmurs, "It's good to be home." Trite of him.

He steps out into the flat, looking around and wondering how Michael would have handled things if they hadn't taken that 'break.' He wonders if he should have bothered talking to Genevieve more, trying to reach any still human part of her and really let her know how Elias was. Wonders if Elias will try to find her again one day or let her stay buried in endless hallways.

"Get a glass of water, you could use it," he is absolutely being a bit of a shithead there, teasing Elias for bringing him water, though he's not entirely insincere in his concern.

 

"I didn't cry that much," Elias responds grumpily, and gets them a _whole bottle of water_ for the nightstand because he doesn't want to stand in the kitchen sipping from a glass, he wants to take Jon to bed. Would physically sweep him off his feet to do so if he wasn't half bandages.

All he wants, _all_ he wants, is to hold Jon safe and close. Too many brushes with death come too close together, and he no longer has the amused and knowing detachment that he cultivated back when it was just the Lightless Flame messing about. So he wastes no time in stripping down and climbing beneath covers that have been remade since he hauled ass out of them in a panic in the pre-dawn hours. Sometimes there is nothing more calming and comforting than cool, clean sheets.

 

Jon's lips quirk at the grumpiness as he follows, and he ends up stripping down to boxers and taking a seat on the bed. He takes a moment to look around, feeling a sense of calm that escaped him since- he wasn't sure. Maybe even before the 'break.' He climbs in after a beat, immediately latching onto Elias.

Lord, did he miss this. Maybe he was always a little (lot) touch hungry, but the last few days renewed that, and he hooks a leg around Elias' while presses close. His voice is a little shaky when he murmurs, "Don't ever do that again. Please."

 

Elias is treating him like spun glass, like he's something precious and fragile, his hands very deliberate. But he still pulls the covers up around their entanglement and holds Jon. Kisses him lightly before he can hide away in Elias' neck, the sweet fondness of it an immense counterpoint to the last time they'd kissed, clawing and desperate.

"I'm sorry," he says, nudging their noses together, trying to at least seem calm, hoping this emotional squall will pass with sleep. "I love you so much that I almost don't know how to manage it. Obviously this time was — poorly."

 

Normally being treated fragile would bother him, but given his state and the events leading to it he can't exactly complain. There was something in being treated gently when the very of the world seemed to want to carve out its pound of flesh, and he melts into it, pressing a hand to Elias' chest.

"I can hardly cast the first stone here, I certainly know what it's like to assume distancing is the ideal solution," the irony of things is not wasted on him. Just desserts and all that. "And our relationship is... it's complicated, between the personal and our work duties."

He exhales, pressing his forehead to Elias', keeping his eyes closed for once rather than the typical regarding. "You've become... regained, perhaps, so much humanity. Remembered it, maybe. And I- I've been weak. That makes it harder for you, needing to protect me, unable to step back and severe your emotions from the situation. I'm sorry. I truly... I didn't want to scream, Elias. I really tried, but-" Oh no, Emotions.

 

"No, no," says Elias at once, kissing him to stop him talking, making a hushing noise when it breaks, "I would never blame you for that. You were so brave. And you stayed alive for me, you're here now, that's what's important." He kisses Jon again, each press just some sharing of emotion that he can't adequately verbalize. "I meant it when I said I think you're perfect as you are. Weakness and empathy and mortality all included."

 

Jon chokes a laugh at that, mostly that he truly believed Elias meant it when he said he liked Jon as he was. For a kid who's guardian could barely tolerate him yeah, that was a little more than overwhelming.

He takes a few breaths, running his hand over Elias' collar just for the sensation of it under his palm as he leans back in to respond to the emotions in Elias' kiss with one of his own. "I don't think I'd handle it half as well if you were in the same sort of danger," he admits. Then again it was sometimes hard to imagine Elias, the man who stood toe to toe with monsters without batting an eye, ever in such a sorry state.

 

"Believe me, it wouldn't be difficult to handle it better than I did," Elias says grimly. He'd papered over the fault lines and kept pushing on until he broke. "But that, at least, you don't have to worry about. There's very little that poses a direct threat to me."

He smiles just slightly, dangerous for a moment — the kind of smile that recalls the fact that he's killed people. But it passes, and then his grey eyes are all too human again, regarding Jon softly. "I thought I'd accepted all of this. The risks of our profession, the possibility that you might be hurt. I didn't propose a lifetime together thinking it would be infinite. But the reality, of losing you when I love you this much, it's ... quite different than I thought."

 

"And I'm grateful for it," Jon admits, even if that dangerous smile reminded him that he was a fool for all this. Well, a fool or reprehensible for finding it increasingly easy to excuse a body count. 

But he regards Elias back like he was he treasured regardless of casualties. "I admit, I wasn't really expecting how... intense this can be. Always imagined all the drama of love was saved for movies and teenagers." He's quiet a moment, then asks, "What will you do now? To cope with it."

 

Elias' laugh is slightly shaky. "I don't know. Aside from doing everything in my power to keep you safe? I suppose I simply have to accept that there's going to be — pain, and fear, in my life again now. Figure out how to relieve that tension without crying at work or shutting off from my emotions. Find other things to balance it out." 

Like this, the two of them curled up under blankets in the middle of the day. He runs a hand up Jon's side and then lifts it to his face, holds it to be kissed, slow and deep. "Remind myself that you're worth it," he says, a little wryly, and shakier than he'd like beneath that.

 

Jon pulls his hand up from Elias' chest to cup his jaw, watches him. "Acknowledging emotions- sounds positively dreadful," he says, dry and still a touch raw. Better, at least, than before. "I love you," he murmurs in spite of that quip, stroking Elias' jaw. "We'll figure it out, won't we? Can't be much worse than saving the world from flesh wearing puppets."

 

"Having to feel things sounds far worse than anything the Stranger does," Elias disagrees with laughing eyes. He's so in love that it doesn't feel sustainable, but it also isn't going away. They'll figure it out.

He kisses Jon again lightly, because he can never have enough kisses. "Have a rest, Jon. You've obviously been through a lot." Even if he's just as obviously getting far better at coping with it. Anyway, he can't deny that he could use a nap himself, rather than just listening to the comfort of Jon's breath, even if he won't admit it.

 

Jon huffs an amused breath, running his fingertips over Elias' lips before returning it to his chest. "Yes, being human is the worst the world could ask of you," teasing but maybe that wasn't entirely wrong, not after being a monster for so long.

He shifts to tuck himself properly into Elias' space, answering, "Only if you rest too, you stubborn fool." Regardless of that he does fall asleep rather quickly, lulled by exhaustion and the feeling of Elias against him.


	13. sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content warning: Washing/Bathing, Feeding Each Other, Anal Sex, Elias Bottoming, Crying/Overwhelmed.

It isn't until the early evening that he stirs, blinking in bleary confusion until he remembers where he was and why. He stubbornly closes his eyes, pressing into Elias' chest like he needed a moment to make sure he wouldn't find himself waking in the Archives again. After a few moments he releases a breath, fairly certain he wasn't waking into another dream. Given his recent exposure to the Spiral who knew.

Jon pulls himself up enough to look down at Elias, uncertain expression softening to fondness. "You're such a layabout, napping on a work day."

 

Elias' eyes open as well, then, though who knows how long he's been awake. Eyebrows arch disbelievingly. "A layabout, am I. You're probably lucky you're injured right now, or I'd give you what-for." 

Not that he really disagrees. There's something very decadent about this, just lounging about in bed with Jon in the dim of the room, barely dressed and tangled warm together. He lets out a content hum from deep in his chest, stretches a leg without dislodging Jon. "Do you still want to get married, by the way?"

 

Jon huffs as though that were a dumb question. "Of course I do. Do you really think I'd say all that soppy nonsense if I didn't?" Romance remains alive and well. "We've made it this far, somehow. May as well reach the finish line."

He reaches down, tracing Elias' brow and wonders if there'd ever be a day he didn't find watching the man fascinating. He doubted it, somehow. Soppy indeed. "Do you still want to?"

 

"More than ever," says Elias, expression softening into a smile under Jon's questing fingers; it's a lot harder to panic and flee when you're married. He wants to promise himself to Jon, and mean it, and keep it. 

"Pick some time in the next fortnight then, and knock on wood if we'll live to see it we can do it then."

 

Jon leans down to kiss him, slow and warm. When he pulls back it's with a faint smile. "Very well, I'll do just that. Your optimism is truly lovely," dry as dust, like he's even remotely better ever. He's probably made a joke about the measurements for his wedding suit being useful in case he needs something proper for his coffin.

"One thing to look forward to, at least. I'd rather be fully recovered for it as well. We are going to dance, after all."

 

It's still like being kicked in the chest sometimes, when Jon is really romantic like that. He has to try not to think about it, Jon dressed up and dancing with him, like he'll somehow wear out the idea before it happens. "Yes we are," he agrees softly. Shifts against him and makes a speculative noise. "Speaking of recovery," he says, toying with the elastic of Jon's boxers before slipping beneath them to cup his ass with a warm, inquiring hand. "How's your back feeling."

 

Jon makes a soft noise at that, nearly chuckles at the thought that it had been a while since Elias' hands wandered like that. Amazing, that a few days was 'a while' now. Relationships.

"Better, certainly healing faster than I would have thought," he answers, squirming a little. Maybe Elias was right about how he was developing as he got more used to taking statements and the like. "They itch. It's very irritating."

Remember when he had to ease Jon into touching with careful, considered hand placement? And now he's just enjoying groping him without that even being the focus of what they're doing.

"That means they're healing," says Elias, which he seems glad of. "You should take a bath, perhaps, a hot clean soak can help so long as you're careful not to reopen anything."

 

"Well, that does sound nice," Jon admits, and is only faintly embarrassed to ask, "Would you take it with me?" Truly, a far cry from when he couldn't undress without getting awkward. Character development.

 

"The bath? I'd be delighted," says Elias, something velvet in his tone. Squeezes Jon's ass idly, kisses him — kisses him for a while, actually, just enjoying the way they can go back and forth with that, sweet to teasing to hungry. He's turned on but it seems distant, irrelevant in the face of just wanting to be close. "You'll have to let me up if you want a bath," he points out, like he hasn't been chasing Jon's mouth if he even seems like he's going to break away.

 

Jon shifts to straddle his waist as they kiss, one hand pressed on Elias' chest to balance himself. It's nice and comfortable, helps him ignore the irritating itch and ache of his back. He's nearly forgotten the bath by the time Elias mentions it, and huffs against his lips as he leans in to catch the words with his own.

Eventually he does pull back, half hard himself and shockingly unabashed. Maybe it just felt casual, or he was too busy enjoying the look of Elias' lips after a round of long kisses. "You started it," he accuses, and reluctantly slides off Elias. "You're a terrible influence in every way, I hope you know."

 

"Hurtful words," Elias says, pressing a hand to his _incredibly wounded_ heart. But he can't be that grievously injured since he seems almost sprightly when he hops off the bed and, heedless of his obvious erection, goes to start the bath.

He leaves the taps running, tosses in some bath salts for their antibacterial properties more than the sweet scent, and heads off to the kitchen to get them — you guessed it, more water, some cut fruit. (There's probably dinner in the fridge by now thanks to housekeeping, but lol these guys and eating.) When he returns he helps Jon strip the bandaging from his back and collarbone and shoulders. The places where he lost skin are already a shiny pink, and Elias runs a finger alongside one, something clenching his heart. 

"These really are healing well," is what he says, but he doesn't try to suppress how much they upset him. "You're going to be all over scars, though."

 

Elias, excellent at hydration and terrible at food. Jon strips as he waits, pointedly doesn't look at the mirror because he was trying not to see the state of his back, even bandaged. He doesn't particularly like Elias looking either but he pushes past the feeling, tensing for only a brief moment when Elias' runs a finger near one of the scars. More aggressively pushes away the echo of Nikola's plastic fingers tracing the wounds.

"I know," he sighs, a touch raw. "I'm starting to think scarring up the new Archivist is some sort of pissing contest between domains I wasn't informed of. At least Crew had the decency not to leave a mark."

He turns to Elias, expression softening somewhat. "She never got a round two thanks to you. Rather immensely grateful for that."

 

Jon turns to face him and Elias looks at him for a moment and then dips his head, kisses the jagged circle where she'd pried out a mark he'd bitten. As upset as they make him, he's not disgusted by them. "I wish I'd been faster."

Every time he walked instead of ran. Every time he took a moment to think before he acted. Obeying the speed limit, taking care with the artifacts, the list of ways he'd been slow goes on. Maybe there could have been one scar less.

"Into the bath with you," he says, breaking away and testing the water before getting in himself. He's never done this with anyone; it's more intimate than a hot tub somehow, less space and their legs all intertwined.

 

Jon exhales at the lips to that particular scar, feels a surge of emotions he pushes back down for the moment. Not all of those were bad, in fact very many were soft, but they had plenty of emotional overload the past few days. He just wanted a nice bath, thank you, and he puts his glasses aside as he approaches the bath.

So he gets in, sinking into the warm water with a satisfied groan, legs brushing against Elias' as he situated himself. It was a strangely intimate thing, he almost exclusively took showers so the bath itself was novel enough without sharing it. He folds his arms against the rim of the tub, resting his head against them and regarding Elias with a faintly amused look. "This is absurdly decadent. You brought _fruit_ for god's sake. If I fed you grapes you'd be the picture of a hedonistic Roman noble."

 

Elias draws up one knee to drape himself over and watches Jon relax into the water the way he always does: with way more intensity than is warranted for the simple actions being taken. Though once he knows Jon's watching him back, he lets his gaze turn a little licentious, wandering deliberately all the way down into the water and back up again.

"You've got it the wrong way around, I'm afraid," he says softly. "I'm planning on feeding _you_ grapes." Just be glad he decided wine was probably a bad idea.

 

Jon glances away in embarrassment at the look, likely a reaction he'd never fully be able to get rid of. Now he could, at least, admit to being pleased by it- to himself, at least. No way Elias would get that information without working for it.

He looks back and quirks his brow. "Somehow, no matter the tone or content, you make everything sound like a threat," he replies, not that he was remotely threatened. That was obvious, given how he untangles one of his arms reach over graze his fingertips over Elias' calf. God damned working out rich handsome jerk. "I'd tell you it's rather bafflingly attractive, occasionally, but I'd hate for it to go to your head."

 

"Mm, yes, wouldn't want me to get an ego," Elias agrees, smirking a little. He is well aware Jon is attracted to him, but he doubts he'll get tired of hearing it any time soon. 

"I mean it, though," he adds, "I fully intend to hand feed you every piece of this." More of the care he has for Jon that he has never particularly had for himself, not that Elias doesn't have a hedonistic streak a mile wide sometimes. "So I think that makes you the Roman noble." Ah yes, because the first thing people think of when they think of Jon is _imperious_.

 

"You're the one who may as well actually be nobility," Jon rolls his eyes, because he definitely is one of those people who don't really think 'imperious' when he looks at himself in the mirror. Elias, on the other hand, not so far off that mark. That and Elias' care was sweet enough he had to make a show of eye rolling. Just the kind of shitlord Jon was.

"Have some yourself, you don't eat enough," he says, truly like a man raised by a grandmother. "I can share, I promise. In fact-" he leans over to pick up a strawberry, shifting again so he's kneeling before Elias, bracing himself with a hand on Elias' knee as he presses the strawberry at Elias' lips. He tries to look solemn and stuffy in this duty, though there's sparkle to his eye that's pure amusement.

 

"I've told you, I don't..."

Oh. He trails off. It's true that Elias would make an excellent Julius Caesar, and he plays along willingly, taking the strawberry between his lips in such a flirtatious way that he obviously wants to remind Jon of his oral fixation. But he's humbled, a little, by Jon turning it around on him — by Jon kneeling for him, actually, even if it's just in a bath. 

He doesn't bother protesting his eating habits again. "If you want me to be your lord and master I'm hardly going to complain," he says airily instead, with a jump of his eyebrows, plucking up a grape and feeding it cheekily to himself.

 

"Aren't you already?" Jon asks with some dry amusement, though it's hardly all a joke. Elias seemed to be a direct connection to the thing many would call their master, as if the empty spaces in Elias were filled with it. There was Elias' position as well, whatever the Head was to the Archivist there was a connection. The thought of _masters_ and duty doesn't trouble him as much as it once did, and Jon's not certain if he should be frightened of that fact.

He's tired of being frightened, he knows that much. He'd much rather push that particular overthinking aside, watch Elias' lips as he bit into a grape. Oral fixation indeed, a very good distraction from overthinking. He reaches to thumb at the corner of Elias' mouth, cleaning an nonexistent smudge of strawberry or grape juice. "And you do wear smug superiority much better than I do. Sometimes it's even endearing."

 

Putting his fingers close to Elias' mouth right now is just asking for trouble; unsurprisingly they're what go between Elias' lips next, tracing his tongue up their underside like he would Jon's cock. He sucks, hollowing his cheeks, draws off with a wet noise.

"Mm, this is getting into distinctly deviant territory, Jonathan," Elias informs him, the faux-scandal not particularly convincing given he just fellated Jon's fingers. "In this scenario are you my stuffy manservant I'm planning to seduce? Or perhaps a worshipful slave given to see to my every desire? Or, hm, maybe you're my wilful subject who requires discipline." Apparently his reading taste isn't solely classic lit.

 

Jon is somehow surprised by this turn of events, though he doesn't complain as he watches Elias' lips wrap around his fingers. And watch he does, swallowing and flushing at the memory of Elias' lips elsewhere. Guess where, you'll never figure it out. 

He shifts, the arousal of their time on the bed renewing as he exhales in amusement. "I'm starting to get the distinct impression you read more than just classic horror and famous Russian literature," he tells him as he draws his hand back to rest on Elias' knee. "Either that or your imagination is far more _distinctly deviant_ than I've given you credit for."

 

Elias chuckles. "Perhaps it's both," he says brightly, not quite willing to admit where he gets his ideas, as it were. Enough that he has them, even if they're ridiculous cliches. Trite even in his sexy bdsm roleplay fantasies.

"Buuut you're supposed to be relaxing in the bath," he says with melodramatic rue, as he picks up — a piece of pineapple. It's his turn to feed Jon fruit, and he leans forward and does so with relish

 

"Again, something that should in no way be endearing yet here we are," Jon answers, then rolls his eyes but accepts the fruit, still leaning somewhat on Elias' knee as though it were a comfortable arm rest. "Thank you, so gracious for you to share with the peasants," he responds dryly before his expression softens. "This is... nice. I think you're slowly conditioning me to find warm baths and the like far more pleasant than I already did." 

 

"It's hardly conditioning when I just want you to enjoy an enjoyable experience," Elias informs him tartly, and then feeds him more fruit. "And I think you more than deserve a little R&R — you know, most people take time off work when they're injured." He holds up his free hand immediately. "I know, I know. Circumstances being what they are, your hardiness and my, foolishness and the urgency of the situation, it was necessary. I'm not criticizing." Not really. He touches Jon's jaw. "Just — let me take care of you for a bit, will you darling."

 

Jon was absolutely ready to counter that before Elias raises his hand, making Jon settle and listen with a look that softens around the edges. He leans into the touch, thinks about how the first time Elias had called him darling had been a joke that raised his hackles and now it gave him a small, ridiculous flicker of warmth in his chest when he did. 

"All right, all right," he gives in. "I am sorry, it's simply- this is one of the many learning experiences." Meaning being taken care of- probably on both their ends. "You already do a very good job of it, you know. Taking care."

 

Elias gives a short breath of skepticism, a little heh. "I certainly do my best," he admits, though he's not sure he achieves it — between Jon's injuries and sending him away and forgetting to feed him and other such sins.

Still. He comes a little closer in the water, as much as he can given their positions and the confines of the tub... and then reaches for and _tugs_ Jon. There's going to be great warm splash as he pulls him right forward and falls back himself, like it's at all feasible to be all tangled up in each other chest to chest while having a bath. But he's laughing despite the fact that he's straining his abdomen not to just slip under the water entirely. This is how people get injured in the bathroom, Elias.

 

Hey, he has the water part down well. Jon watches him reach, expects some exploratory touch and not Elias deciding to forgo bathing safety. He makes a startled sound that is distinctly undignified, falling against Elias' chest and clutching the rim of the tub to keep from submerging himself. He tries to glower at Elias but Elias is _laughing_ and hell, if that hasn't become a weakness of his. Instead he gives up some of his balance to lean forward and steal the laughter, the kiss sound and deep and achingly in love with Elias' moment of unabashed humanity.

"If we both die from cracked skulls in a bathtub I will never forgive you," he does manage to complain when he pulls back, just a touch breathless.

 

Elias shimmies up enough that he can just lean his shoulders on the slightly sloped back of the tub, and draws Jon in to be supported by his chest — but it's still incredibly awkward. He shifts, uncomfortable. "This is a little unwieldy," he agrees unabashedly, grinning, because it got him good and kisses and he can't at all regret that. "Perhaps you should turn around for me." The classic bathing-in-my-lover's-arms position, back to chest. Then he can cuddle Jon to his heart's fucking content while Jon relaxes; the best of both worlds. Turning around without kneeing Elias in the groin might prove tricky, though.

 

This time Jon laughs, ducking his head. "Is it?" Dry as dust, yeah Elias, your master plan has proven maybe not thought out. He does as he's told, careful of Elias' junk because he does have a vested interest in that, believe it or not. It is completely awkward and he nearly loses balance at least once but he manages to turn, water sloshing every which way as he settled back into Elias' chest.

Cuddling is basically always the key to getting Jon to calm down and shut up, so it's not surprising when he immediately relaxes, sinking a little more into the water and resting his head back against Elias' chest. "Much better," he approves, glad that putting pressure on his back didn't sharply hurt. He fully intended to stay like this for a while so it better not.

"When you dated as a hobby, did you ever take it further?" he asks rather randomly, trying to glance up. He must be feeling better if he's bugging Elias for personal tidbits again.

 

All that difficult repositioning becomes worth it as on as Jon settles between his legs and Elias can drape his arms all over him, fingers tracing his chest, following the pattern of hair there. Once he's certain they're both comfortable he would be perfectly happy to just sit quietly like that for a while, but god forbid Jon ever stop asking questions.

"Sometimes," he admits. "I was always very clear it was going to be a one-night stand; disappearing after the first date is one thing, but after physical intimacy it can be very hurtful. And I was careful not to proposition anyone I felt might have started developing feelings. So it was mostly mutual stress relief."

 

You're the one choosing to marry this, Elias. Jon nods, that sounded strategically Elias, even thinking ahead for one night stands. "That's surprisingly empathetic of you, no offense. I suppose it makes sense not to make an unnecessary emotional mess of things."

Logic was always easiest to understand like that. "Before you became the head, did you ever believe you'd marry? Did you have some future plans to that end?"

 

"That's it precisely," Elias confirms, not particularly offended by this assessment because it's true that he hadn't been attempting to spare anyone's feelings out of empathy for them. "Hurt people tend to be unpredictable, hold grudges, become intrusive. I wanted no ... strings, as they say."

Which probably means his answer to the next question might be predictable. "No," he says, sighs softly against Jon's neck, a little amused and a little melancholy. "I forget you're younger than me sometimes. There weren't even civil partnerships in England until well after I became Head of the Institute."

 

"Oh- yes, I didn't even consider that," Jon muses, shifting to glance up as best he could. "I forget how old you really are, so we're even," not a compliment, Jon. His expression softens somewhat. "That's... wildly unpleasant."

He runs a hand up Elias' leg, tapping a pattern into his knee not unlike the waltz they danced. "Still, that doesn't answer if you _wanted_ to, just that it wasn't possible." He considers for a long moment. "I always enjoyed the idea of a life partner in some respects, but decided it simply wasn't in the cards. I suppose I was wrong about that in the end."

 

"I suppose you were," Elias agrees, and kisses the top of his head.

He considers for a moment. "My plans for the future occasionally took into consideration that my intended career would benefit from having a supportive wife, and lord knows my parents both wanted grandchildren, but I wasn't — I'm not — interested in women — so I hardly relished the idea. It seemed like something I would one day have to endure. I don't think it ever occurred to me that I could have... something like this. Someone like you. So how could I have hoped for it?"

 

Jon can see the logic there and nods, flushed purely from the heat and definitely not Emotions™. "I'm sure everything with the Beholding hardly made mundane future plans a possibility." That and as far as Jon heard he was dealing with all the fun of Peter and Genevieve shortly after that. He wonders if Genevieve had mundane plans for the future, marriage and family and all, before shoving the thought down.

He owed it to Elias to try and relax properly, after all, if that's what Elias wanted. "Well, I for one am glad you didn't give in to societal pressure and marry for your family's empire. It would make all this dreadfully awkward." Also, real talk, poor that woman getting roped into this magical bullshit. "I suppose I should be glad I didn't give much of a thought to preferences until I was safely in University with all the open-mindness it often entails these days. Bournemouth was frustrating enough."

 

Dreadfully awkward. Elias chuckles at that, just a vibration against Jon, amused at the idea that he'd be unhappily married and yet still somehow here in the bath with Jon. Presumably they would be having a torrid workplace affair. Awkward indeed.

"I would have had such a crush on you in university," Elias admits into his hair, a little embarrassed. "And you would have had no idea, obviously, because you're incredibly oblivious to how many people want to fuck you and I don't imagine that was different when you were younger."

 

Imagining Jon having an affair at all is amazing. Elias seems exactly the dramatic housewives of rich assholes in London to do that though. Anyway Jon scoffs, flushing slightly because he's Jon. At least their positions made it easy to hide that embarrassment.

"And again, just because one person had a crush I was unaware of does not mean anything," he argues and still very much believes that. Though it's easy to tell he's pleased about Elias' embarrassed confession. "Would you really though? Questionable tastes. I admit I've wondered how we would have gotten on without being part of the Beholding. If you were half as likely to talk people in frustrating circles I think I would have been rather smitten despite my own irritation."

 

"Good," says Elias, "But I'd like to circle back to this 'doesn't mean anything' argument," Elias says; and it's probably good Jon can't see his face because his eyes have lit up at spotting the perfect way to embarrass Jon. Which he's into, obviously. Weird kink monster man.

"For one thing," he begins, "You didn't notice when I took an interest in you — though I cant wholly fault you that, I can be a difficult man to read. You didn't seem to consider that Peter might be interested in you as more than a tool to get to me, I've definitely seen you ignore a statement-giver's attempts at flirting with you, and while Martin may have had the most enduring crush I am fairly certain he's not the only one at the Institute who's thought about taking you to bed."

This comprehensive list done, he tightens his arms around Jon a little, both possessive affection and keeping him from too much indignant squirming. "If I had to speculate... It's the brooding masculinity paired with that blushing reserve. Makes people want to take you apart. I certainly did. Do."

 

"Oh lord..." Yes, Jon can sense whatever Elias was going to say will be A Thing, and he braces himself for it. Of course no amount of bracing stops him from being continuously embarrassed by this list, even nearly interrupting at the bit about statement givers because now Elias was just being ridiculous, clearly.

There is absolutely indignant squirming, like he wants to turn around and give Elias quite the look, though he settles back into the embrace with a good, proper harrumph. Probably better Elias can't see the renewed flush at the taking apart comment. Fond memories there.

"Where do I even start... Peter I still believe that about, but I suppose he could be shameless enough to just enjoy _variety_. Given how many times you had to tell me to stop agitating the statement givers I don't see why I even need to argue that one and- and you're ridiculous. Utterly and completely. I know you just like teasing me, you know, I'm wise to your games," he shouldn't also be fond of them but here they were.

 

"I like teasing you with the truth about your obliviousness," Elias says, and Jon doesn't have to see him to hear how smug he is. "That you don't know how to accept a compliment is just a bonus."

He slides his hands down to the inward angle of Jon's hips, his adonis belt, just traces there with idle provocation. He doesn't really intend to follow through — he wants things from Jon that would be a little too dangerous in the bath — but he's not above continually sparking his interest before they actually get where they're going. "Not that it really matters whether you notice or not. I think we've proven that if I want you to let someone have you, you will."

 

And Jon's squirming again, despite his best efforts not to. The words are almost as much as the idle tracing, sending a soft shudder down his spine. "Well I... fine, I suppose there's some truth in that," he has to admit, because it wasn't as though he hadn't been an enthusiastic participant there. "Though Peter was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop." 

He huffs, leaning his head back, fingers pressing into Elias' thighs. "The only real problem with this position is I can't properly kiss the smug look I know you have right now off your face." Remember when he was kind of clumsy at kissing? Such important character development here.

 

"We could reach if you twisted, but I'd rather not risk your injuries," Elias tells him. "But I promise you, once we're out of the bath you can have all the kissing you could possibly want." An easy promise to make, since he loves just necking with Jon. Maybe because he never got much of that, not from Peter and not really from his one night stands. It's an intimate treat to just indulge himself with Jon's mouth on his for hours.

"Still. This evokes a little of that, don't you think?" This being the position, that being their night with Peter. "You can't see me, can't kiss me, can't even properly touch me... but I can certainly touch you." He demonstrates, the hand beneath the water reaching down just far enough to take Jon in hand, stroke him lightly, just a suggestion of a handjob. "Bull in a china shop seems very apt." Jon being the china shop. "And the next morning he wanted to fuck me with you right there, asleep beside us."

 

A good promise, and a pleasant reminder that things were back to normal- or, at least, as normal as they got. No lonely Archives nights, as it were, and Jon would melt into the embrace further if Elias weren't making such a successful effort to wind him up.

Jon was already hard before, and Elias' hand, as light as it is, is enough to hitch his breath as he bites down a soft groan. "That would be... quite the sight to wake up to," he manages, and imagining it is certainly a lovely a thing. He swallows, turning his head into Elias' chest some. "We're going to prune if we stay in here any longer." 

 

"You just want those kisses," Elias accuses, touches him a little longer just because he can, but finally relents and lets Jon up. Offers a hand to brace with as Jon gets out, and then follows suit, bath-warmed limbs a little unsteady. 

They towel off, and Elias touches Jon's neck lightly. "Let me do these," he says, and pats him down delicately, tenderly. "I think I'd like to get you bandaged up before we — do anything else, if you don't mind." Not that he's against blood.

 

"I admit they are hard to resist," Jon murmurs, making a soft sound in his throat when Elias finally stops. He gets out with Elias' help, dries himself up until Elias makes his request.

He nods, slightly hesitant, that kneejerk reaction to hide his back from Elias still strong. "They feel much better," he admits, and the dull ache and itching did lessen a great deal with the soak. Elias was right, he's not all that surprised. He moves only to get the bandages and supplies needed, handing them over to Elias. He didn't mind blood either but he preferred it to be from something Elias did, not Nikola Orsinov, thanks.

 

Elias takes the whole lot, Jon and bandages and all, over to the bed. "On your elbows," he says, and then straddles Jon's ass as a deliberate distraction, letting him feel the warm interest of his burgeoning erection while he first disinfects and then covers and tapes every raw patch, from his lower back upwards.

"This would be a lot more fun if they were my marks," he murmurs, thumbing cream into one of the highest ones. "I'm sure if you were my servant you'd be unruly enough to need a whipping." Though despite all this playful fantasy it might be a while before Elias is anything other than conciliatory, gentle to the point of frustration. Even with the demonstration of his accelerated healing Jon's meatsack feels dangerously breakable to him now.

 

Jon does as he's told, even resists the urge to push up into Elias' erection and distract him. The treatment is a strange mix of soothing and an unpleasant reminder of the wound's existence, and rather than wonder again how they'll scar he focuses on Elias' words with a soft huff.

"I wish they were yours, at least then I'd have scars I could actually be fond of," kinky, Jon. He seems to realize as much with a flush Elias gratefully can't see, hanging his head a moment.

 

Elias laughs at that, low and pleased. "You endure your hurts for Beholding, so technically, all of these are mine," he points out. "Though at this rate I'm running out of places I could mark. Maybe your arse? Seems a shame to mar perfection, though."

He climbs off Jon, gets him to turn over so he can do the injuries that waterfall over his shoulder to his collarbone — he's still a little curious about Michael's stab wound, but doesn't ask, just bandages it up like the rest. Runs his fingers along Jon's throat, then cups it like he might strangle, though he doesn't squeeze, just feels the beat of Jon's pulse against his palm. 

"I love you, you know," he remarks idly, looking down at him.

 

"Incredible. You are lucky I can't reach you- if any comment deserves a smack it's that one," Jon gripes, though the amusement in his tone ruins it. He turns over, lips still failing to keep from quirking at the edges, and watches Elias work with a strange feeling of peace. When he takes care of the jab from Michael Jon expects some comment, maybe a question, but when Elias refrains he feels he rather understands. Once they broached that topic there was no going back until it was seen through.

He lifts his chin for Elias' ease of access, swallows against Elias' palms though not from nerves. He thinks it's strange to trust Elias enough to feel not even the slightest paranoia when Elias' hands cupped his throat. He wasn't sure if that trust was earned or simply delusional.

Of course Elias' remark has his expression softening and the thought fleeing from his mind. "I know. Even when you took your distance part of me couldn't doubt it," he answers. "I love you too. "

 

They're disgusting and Elias feels really good about it. A little flustered, maybe, but good. He stops cupping Jon's neck so consideringly and murmurs, "Get up here," in a growl, encouraging Jon up the unmade bed and back under the covers. Come get those kisses.

 

Jon immediately does so, crawling over and grasping Elias' jaw. He doesn't kiss him right away, just stares at him a brief moment as if he was drinking the image of his face in- in this light, with this expression the backdrop of the bed and familiar walls and unnerving eye art Elias had hanging on the wall. Only then does he kiss him, long and slow, steadily increasing in intensity until he breaks it off with a soft gasp.

"I missed this- lord, how pathetic. It's been less than a week and I _missed_ this," he murmurs into Elias' lips. "So don't ever damn well doubt what I said. I love you, you ridiculous cretin." He tries to keep the edge of desperate feeling out of his tone. He very much hoped whatever happened next wouldn't test Elias' faith in that.

 

"Such a sweet talker," says Elias wryly, but he finds he isn't at all insulted, used to Jon's grousing and invective by now. He nips Jon's lip, not remotely hard enough to bruise let alone break skin, just a reminder of teeth while their mouths are this close. "I missed you too, of course. This bed is too big without you." And don't even get him started on the fact that a lot of Jon's stuff is still here and he'd had to see it. He definitely didn't go around smelling his clothes or anything, that would be super weird. 

He willingly gives his mouth up to another long kiss, flushed down the chest by the time it breaks. Despite that, despite how he's clutching Jon close, he thinks he could honestly do nothing more than kiss all night and still be perfectly content — goodness, he's in quite deep. "I love kissing you," he reminds Jon, just because he can. "It's like nothing else could matter more."

 

"Lord, we thrive on this trite nonsense," says the asshole who started the trite nonsense. Jon traces that flush on Elias' chest, leans down to kiss the dip of Elias' collar bone and then up to his neck before returning to his lips. He wraps his arms around Elias the best he can manage in the position, ignoring the low burn of arousal Elias built up in the bath. He wasn't wrong about nothing else mattering more. 

"When we get married we're taking the next day off, everything else be damned. The monsters and doom can wait a day, I'm not getting out of bed until we need to." So, does he mean because they'll be banging so much or relaxing and making out? It's Jon so probably the latter but who knows, saucy bitch.

 

"We should go somewhere," Elias suggests, tracing a finger down Jon's cheekbone and then across to his lips. "Immediately after we're married. Hop on a plane to — I don't know, where would you like? Somewhere quiet, I imagine."

 

Jon considers, imagines it more as a nice fantasy rather than an actual question. Unless they settled the Unknowing he knew it was impossible. "You imagined right. A mountain retreat would be nice, somewhere cold, quiet and very far away from ghost stories and people. Just somewhere I haven't seen before." You could never take that part of the Beholding out of the Archivist.

"And what about you? Don't you dare say you don't care either way."

 

Elias pulls a face. "But I _don't_ ," he says. "I don't know. I like old places, temples and things. Monuments. Wouldn't mind somewhere with skiing. Or the opposite end, a beach resort on an island. I don't really leave London much though, for obvious reasons." Being that he is mostly inhabited by a power that makes its home there.

 

Jon considers for a long moment, playing with the cut of Elias' jawline. "Would you really be allowed to leave?" Gertrude seemed to travel, so Jon was fairly certain he was allowed to stray as long as the Beholding approved of it (which was an alarming thought he was getting far too used to, the Eye's collar and leash.) Elias was another matter entirely, seeing as the heart was not something typically known for travel.

 

"I travel occasionally, but only briefly. One or two days shouldn't hurt," Elias says, a little ruminatively. "A week might be risky but I don't know. Longer... well," He presses a light kiss to the corner of Jon's mouth. "I wouldn't want to be away from the Institute for that long even if I could be."

 

"A couple of days then," Jon agrees, eyes fluttering shut a moment just to enjoy the warmth and touch without processing it visually. He wasn't really sure he had it in him to be away long either, though whether that was his workaholic tendencies or some ingrained part of being the Archivist he wasn't sure.

"You know, it used to frighten me wondering if something in me has changed, makes me unable to stray. More inhuman qualities building up," he murmurs, hand pressing against Elias' heart to feel the beat. "Now it frightens me how much easier it is to accept. I should likely still be bedridden and here we are, compulsion comes so much easier. Sometimes I feel like we're trading- you're gaining humanity back and I'm losing it."

He sounds calm about it, nestling his head to Elias' shoulder, letting out a shuddering sigh. "Do you think we should be afraid of that?"

 

"Not if we're planning to meet in the middle," murmurs Elias, probably seeming more cavalier about it than he truly feels, given his earlier response to crying was so antipathic.

He holds Jon, eyes also falling closed, though he isn't remotely sleepy. Just enjoying the feel of them together. "I'll organize something," he says, meaning, he'll throw money at a travel agent to do that for him. "Now," he murmurs, "I think maybe I'd like to try you inside me sometime this evening, if you'll be so obliging."

 

"That would be the ideal solution," Jon answers, and certainly doesn't believe they'll be that lucky or things will be that easy. Optimism was not a strong suit.

That comment makes him open his eyes with pointed interest, both flushing and biting back a laugh at how incredibly blasé Elias could sound saying things that would have Jon tongue tied. "Well... I do enjoy trying new things with you," he admits with a faint quirk of the lips before continuing, "You'll have to guide me, to some extent. I don't want-" he hesitates, trying to find the words. "I want you to enjoy it as much as possible," he settles for.

 

"That isn't going to be a problem," Elias says, delighted. "I promise I have quite a high pain tolerance when it comes to this sort of thing. But I will be more than happy to provide ... hm, instruction."

But first he's going to haul Jon up to be kissed a little more, because they have the luxury of time, plenty of evening hours to waste just enjoying each other's bodies before they try to sleep again.

 

"Exactly. I want it to be how you enjoy it most," Jon answers, and he always did have a desire for learning, didn't he? Even if it was just how rough or painful or intense Elias liked being taken. 

Jon follows, braces himself on Elias' shoulder and kisses back until he needs a breath between. He runs his free hand up Elias' chest, brushes his nipple thoughtlessly, and moves to kissing and nibbling a mark into Elias' neck. He has a brief moment of hesitation, Nikola and her knife at his collar and her questions flooding until he shoves them stubbornly away. He kisses his work when he's done, satisfied, not quite the sharp bites of Elias but still so stubbornly there.

"How are you imagining this then?" he asks, and guess who's threading teasing compulsion in there? This fucker.

 

Elias' hands have wandered back down to Jon's ass to idly grope it while his neck is marked by interested teeth, and he hums, pleased. A rumble that turns into a real groan at the compulsion. "You're unbelievable," he murmurs, but it's soft, awed.

"I like it from behind," he admits, and for maybe the first time ever when talking about sex stuff he's a little flustered by what he's about to admit. "Someone over me, mounting me. But I also like the idea of you taking me just like this, my legs around your waist, your mouth kissing me dizzy..." he's a man of many tastes. He rubs his palms in little circles over Jon's ass and lower back and waist, anywhere bandages are not. "But I _imagine_ we're going to start with your fingers."

 

Jon hums, pleased that compulsion still gave him some little edge when it came to the being shameless department. Competing with Elias there was impossible otherwise. "Yes, I imagine that would be the logical starting point."

He pulls back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Elias' mouth before leaning to get the lube. "And this would also be a logical step in the process." He pops the lid, pouring some into his palm before regarding Elias with a fond look. "You know I'm quite fond of seeing your face, and with something new like this... I would very much like to see the faces you make. It's only logical, after all, easier to tell what you like."

 

"So much logic," Elias laughs, rearranging himself just a little beneath Jon, legs parting easily, one knee lifting. He's all relaxation like this, for the record. Just giving over to Jon, eyes lidded. "But yes, all right, you've made _very_ clear in the past how much you like to watch me, and I can't say I don't understand the sentiment, so we can be — what's that word you like so much? Trite."

 

That makes Jon chuckle despite himself, moving further between Elias' legs and tone going dry as he slicks his fingers. " _Logical_ , thank you. In this case at least." His finger circles Elias' hole, head lifting to watch as he pressed one in. He's careful, of course, though his gaze is avid and he begins to press forward a little faster as he makes note of how Elias reacts. His other hand runs up Elias' thigh, lightly scratching at the skin.

"Do you know how appealing you are?" Compulsion: the closest thing to sexy talk Jon can do without self destructing. "Towering over me or sprawled out beneath like this, every facet of you is so... enticing. It's absurd."

 

"Wanting to look into my eyes while you tenderly make love to me is definitely trite," teases Elias.

He gasps softly at the first intrusion, though, and he knows how to make himself pliable, relaxed, how to make sure this is quick, so he's gone all soft around Jon's investigations but his breathing's picked up. "Mm, fuck," he murmurs when Jonathan compels him, lifts his hand just to touch Jon's face. "More, please. More, but slower." His hips tilting for emphasis. There's a stretch, then, but he just makes shameless low noises — a contrast to how he's usually the quieter of the two of them.

It's been a little while since Peter, and a little while since any time before that, but it's like riding a bike really, he finds he still knows where his limits are. He reaches down and touches himself in tandem with the movement of Jon's hand, slow dry strokes that leave him quivering.

 

Jon follows the instructions- "Like this?" more teasing compulsion, a kiss when he couldn't reach Elias' lips- and adds another finger. He goes slower, watches Elias touch himself and swallows. Enticing indeed.

He takes his time, thorough in all things, enjoying the image of Elias tight around his fingers even as his own arousal becomes hard to ignore. When he pulls his fingers out he takes a moment to breath before reaching for the lubricant again. He coats himself, shifts, finds himself close enough with this to crane over and kiss at the sounds that leave Elias' mouth. 

"All right?" he asks, a little breathless as he lines his cock to catch at Elias' entrance but moves no further.

 

It takes a concerted act of will to let go, to trust Jon and let him turn Elias into a mess of pleasure with just his fingers and the sound of his voice. Normally he struggles, but it doesn't really feel like submitting, feels more like something they're doing together, Jon working to have him ready.

But let go he does — and it turns out Elias can be noisy too, just low hitches every time those clever fingers press deep, louder exclamations when Jon hits his prostate. By the time Jon is getting into position he already feels almost back at that place, the state he achieved in his office that had him sobbing into Jon's shirt. 

"Give it to me," he insists, viciously possessive, arching up to meet that first press, curling his legs around Jon the better to urge him forward. "Nice and deep, let me feel it. I want all of you." Though his demanding growl is cut short by another noise, sharp and guttural.

 

Jon rather understands now why Elias refused to let him muffle himself, struck by the sounds Elias gave him. Of course even in this he swears Elias sounds just wonderful rather than needy and whining, still so sharp and cutting. "Of course," he murmurs, wants to say something positively trite like _you already have all of me_ but thankfully refrains. He groans instead as he presses in, slow, stopping only when he bottoms out.

"Elias..." he gasps, clutching Elias' hip as he adjusted to the tight warmth. His muscles pull right, back giving a biting twinge that isn't entirely unpleasant, and when he looks down at Elias he just thinks how he wants to see more of this- that he wants to leave his own, invisible mark.

He exhales as he pulls back but not out, dutifully following Elias' instructions, nice and deep. It's difficult to concentrate but he does with a furrowed brow, attention to the spots and pace that make Elias growl best. He bites his lip against his own groans, bracing a hand near Elias' head, giving Elias his all just as promised. Watching the whole time, of course, like this is some rare and fascinating event.

 

Having Jon over him and inside him is a little overwhelming but a lot amazing, and Elias can't help but think not a lot of people have ever gotten to see him like this, determined and passionate and unfettered. But then, not a lot of people have gotten to see Elias like this, twisting in brainless pleasure. He has a hand curled in the hair at the back of Jon's head, the other bracing on the headboard over his head, so he can push himself back to meet every thrust.

They know how to move in sync by now, even the other way around, and there's something romantic about that harmony that always flays Elias open (not literally though thanks Orsinov) and when he isn't closing his eyes in concentration and pleasure, or interrupting their rhythm to drag Jon down to be kissed, his eyes are surprisingly soft on the other man's face. 

At some point he laughs, and for no particular reason, just an open expression of affection and release of tension that helps him last a little longer. He's quick to slide his hand around to Jon's face though lest he mistakenly think he's being laughed _at_ : "I love you," Elias reassures him, tightening the ring of his legs to hold him pressed deep and full. "So much, Jon." God, he can barely form words, it's ridiculous. "Go slow?" he requests, because he wants to stay in this intimate place they've made together for a while longer yet.

 

There's something about the so much, Jon that undoes him, chest so impossibly tight it nearly hurts. "Of course," he murmurs back, doesn't move at all despite the tremble in his muscles and just kisses Elias, his lips and jaw and neck, helplessly. 

When he moves again he does go slow as promised, long and grinding pushes, doesn't bother biting his lip as he groans into Elias' ear. Looking down at Elias he wishes he knew what to say, or at least had the clarity to say it, that he was so damned glad to be alive so they could be here, that Elias _saved_ him in so many ways it was absurd, that even with skin peeled off his back he's happier now, in this moment, looking down at Elias twisting in the sheets than he was in many long years of peace. 

He presses a kiss to Elias jaw, eyes watering with god damn _emotion_ and sharp, perfect strain through his body. He blinks them away, lifts his head as he presses hard into what he assumes is Elias' prostate from his reactions, hand moving from Elias' hip to his stomach, brushing his cock. His eyes are faintly red as he looks down at Elias, everything he just thought so damn clear on his face he'd be flustered beyond belief in any other setting. "I do too. So much."

 

Jon looks like he's crying. Elias clutches his face, stops moving with him, trying to come back to himself, his brow furrowing in consternation. "Are you hurt?" he asks, concerned — Jon is still a mess of wounds after all, and Elias doesn't want to take any chances. Even if he's so, so aware of where Jon's hand is, how easy it would be for it to just stroke him over the edge right now — he's already hard enough to be leaking little slug trails across his stomach. "Do you need a break?" (He'd do it, too, blue balls himself hard to make sure Jon was completely comfortable.)

 

This time Jon laughs, helpless, shaking his head. "I'm... I'm fine, Elias. More than fine," he tells him breathlessly, shifting to grind into him and choking back a noise before continuing in a near stutter. "I just... thank you, for saving me, so I'm here and- and can see you, like this. So I can be with you again, so I can... Lord. I really- Elias I never loved someone like this, it's- it's overwhelming."

He can feel emotion thick in his throat, threatening to break through again, and he swallows as he runs his hand over Elias' stomach. "But wonderful. Overwhelming but damn well wonderful. Worth it all."

 

Elias doesn't know how to respond to any of that, even at his most vulnerable, so he just kisses Jon instead. arches up for it even though that strains through his muscles and burns his thighs, coaxes Jon's mouth down so he can show Jon how much he loves him right back.

"Fuck," he murmurs as Jon presses in hard, and then bites him, fond jawline nips. "I want you to come now," he instructs, his own breath harsh. "I want you to use me however you need to get off, can you do that for me?"

 

"Yes," Jon breaths against Elias' lips, shifting only to get a better angle before beginning to move in earnest again. It's still deep, barely pulling out before he presses back in, hanging his head as soft sounds climb up his throat. One trembling hand clutches Elias' cock firmly, trying to keep some kind of rhythm to the strokes but it was increasingly difficult as his own pace grew more erratic.

"Damnit," he groans, free arm moving to help hike up Elias' leg. Whatever this position shifts has him biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, releasing it in a shuddering gasp as he stares down at Elias. He's struck with something that his mind is too jumbled to name, just regards as the untidy human aspects of sweat and mussed hair and panting breath. Elias disheveled and open, Jon inside of him, the way he rocks with each thrust of Jon's hips. 

He chokes a cry as he comes, his own attention to Elias' arousal halting given an orgasm is a hell of a distraction. He let's Elias' leg down, shaking and sloppily trying to stroke Elias through as he pants, still inside him.

 

Elias feels like he's been on the edge for a while now, but having Jon really go for it is exquisite; he puts his back into it, certainly. Elias gets noisy again, guttural, his face all tense as he inhabits the feeling, though his eyes open when he realizes Jon is moving like a man about to go over the edge.

From there he only holds off so he can watch Jon come; the moment Jon drops his leg Elias reaches down, curls his hand around Jon's hand, fingers tangling, and sets a demanding pace for the last few strokes it takes to finish himself off. He's a tight flutter around Jon as he spills with a wounded noise, and then relaxes. Laughs again, shaking with it, and cups Jon's face with both hands now. 

"Come here, come here," he demands, and pulls Jon close to hold him and pet his sweaty hair while they catch their breaths. "You did so well, lovely man."

 

Jon immediately shifts close, pressing against him and the sticky mess on his stomach. He laughs, still breathless, as he leans up for a kiss. He's slowly learning to enjoy the warm glow of Elias' praise rather than berate himself for that.

"And once I catch my breath I get something to clean us and you water," Jon murmurs after a beat, lips quirked with fondness and humour. Even with the slight teasing the aftercare, even simply the act of cleanup, was something he enjoyed immensely. It made him feel... cherished, in some way. And he certainly cherished Elias, as trite as it was. "That was... more intense than I thought." Emotionally, certainly. Life affirming sappy sex and all that.

 

"Me water," laughs Elias, absolutely seeing what Jon is getting at, turning it around on him like that. "I suppose between a hot bath and strenuous activity we lost a lot of fluids." Sexy.

He lifts a hand and thumbs below Jon's eyes. "First me today, now you. Stay with me just a little longer, will you." Cuddling in the mess beyond even, perhaps, the catching of breath.

 

"What an appealing image you conjure," Jon answers dryly. Yes, those sexy lost fluids. The thumb at his face has the look softening, a sheepish embarrassment around the edges. "Yes well... if there were tears, and I admit to nothing, they weren't bad ones on my part."

He answers Elias' request by shifting to a more comfortable position for them both. "Gladly. Just don't complain if we both doze off and wake to a mess."

 

"I'm not the complainer of this relationship, thank you," Elias points out archly, kissing Jon's temple and closing his eyes. He doesn't mind being a little sticky, and he's also Sir-Unlikely-To-Doze-Off so he will eventually rouse Jon before they can stick together. For now, though, he just wants the quiet afterglow to process more feelings than he's had in years, listening to Jon breathing, his heart beating, grateful for both.

 

Jon does need to wake up, and he does as he promised, bringing something to clean them and water for Elias. When he's done he huddles back into Elias' space, falls asleep and has unpleasant dreams that don't bloom into full nightmares at least. Hallways and flesh, the pulse of twitching skin and a laugh more feminine but still ringing like a headache.

When he wakes up he eases to see Elias there, falls into a more dreamless sleep. Wakes again in the morning, early but hardly crack of dawn, and goes about their routine. It's calming, up until he's sitting at the kitchen, pushing a plate with an omelet to Elias and stabbing into his own as he says, "We should... discuss my trip to the Spiral."

 

"All right," agrees Elias, eyebrows raising slightly, slicing up his omelette with the side of the fork. It feels a little early for this kind of conversation, but he'd been in no state to have it yesterday. "You said you met Genevieve in there. Is she..." he pauses, not sure what to ask. 'Is she well' seems stupid. It's not really his sister, anyway, just some manifestation, a trick.

 

"Well, I asked if she was Gertrude and she called me an idiot in French," Jon answers dryly, going a little more solemn. "She's... like Michael, I suppose, as far as I can see. There's something there that is her, I believe, but-" Most of it wasn't. He wasn't sure how much. It was all guesswork anyway.

"Whatever happens I think it's imperative you never go into those hallways. She implied the Spiral wanted both of you, a pair. Mitosis, I believe she said." Or that they took her because they couldn't get him, but he's not going to say that.

 

"I'll cancel my travel-by-Spiral plans, then," Elias says dryly, but he looks a little unnerved. Reassured himself that he's too key to Beholding to ever have to worry about any other power taking a part of him. What is there to take?

"It's not really Genevieve," he reassures Jon. "The Spiral brings her out whenever it wants to get under my skin, but it's learned quickly I won't play its little mind games." Still, he'd been in a lot of tiring communication with it just to get Michael to show up in Jon's office. "Which of them stabbed you?"

 

"It's bothered you with her before?" Jon asks, frowning and deeply unsettled. He shifts, omelet mostly forgotten at this point. "Well... sarcasm or not I am dreadfully serious. I suppose that's rather unfair given I went myself but... just don't, please."

He sighs, rubs at his shoulder. "Michael. It wasn't anything substantial, he was just being petty. Apparently what bits of the human are still in there resent you deeply for Gertrude's death, and me in turn for marrying you. Or maybe it was just playing games with what I expected. He is a liar, after all.

"Elias, before we continue I need you to tell me what you know about this page. I've been so damned busy trying to find it I barely considered what it even _is_."

 

"You _know_ that I can't tell you about what I know," Elias says, a little longsuffering. He used to take a lot of pleasure in stepping around Jon's questions, denying him, but he doesn't seem smug about it this morning, just tired.

 

"I figured as much," Jon sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub at his face for a moment. It was never that easy. "Well, any helpful hints as to where I can learn more about it? Some statement that can shed more light on the artifact? And for that matter what do you truly believe should be done with it? The Spiral seems sure you'll lock it away, never to be seen again. Why not destroy it?"

 

"We're not really in the business of destroying artifacts, _Archivist_ ," points out Elias. "That's why we have rooms full of them." To study, to use if necessary, and to collect. "But all right — Mary Keay knew a lot about the value of skin in ritual, I'll tell you that much. And this isn't the first time the Unknowing has been started and stopped, though you'll have a hell of a time finding records from the Archivist before Gertrude."

 

"So I keep hearing. And what's to stop the Stranger from attacking and reclaiming it? The Hive certainly had not nearly as much trouble as it should breeding within our very walls," Jon shoots back, but settles with that information. "Mary Keay- lovely, so it's finding a woman that should be dead or records no doubt lost long ago."

He's quiet a moment before admitting, "I'm going to read it, whatever it is. So I'd like to go in knowing as much as I possibly can beforehand."

 

"You're going to — " Elias puts his fork down with a sharp noise, looks at him all startled and concerned. "You bloody well are _not_ , Jon."

 

Yeah, this is what he expected, and is basically why he brought it up as early as he did. Being domestic when he knew Elias was going to be markedly displeased with him was a bit guilt inducing. "What else can I do, Elias? If anything has the information we need to destroy Nikola Orsinov it's this page. Besides I... made a deal with the Spiral, so I know the location of the page."

Haha Elias was going to be so thrilled with him. "I'm giving it Nikola Orsinov. It seemed quite excited by the prospect, and made itself clear that failing to deliver made my life forfeit."

 

"Giving Orsinov to the Spiral isn't a terrible idea," cedes Elias. "She's something of a general in the Stranger's growing army."

A pause, and he shifts forward to touch Jon's knee, his gaze entreating. "But you don't need the page for that. Once you have it, we can just put it away where she can't get to it. Prentiss' invasion was nothing. There are things in Artifacts just as dangerous as the page, just as powerful. There are plenty of domains who would like to get their awful toys back, but they don't manage because we do not let them." Ah, the good old Beholding-plural.

 

"My only concern is the Spiral making something out of her that's worse than she was before. Still, they wanted one of my assistants and I wasn't about to barter them." Unlike Gertrude, boy oh boy. 

Jon listens and boy, if this wasn't the definition of conflict of interests he didn't know what was. "How could we possibly trap Orsinov without using it? You've seen her, and she's only been getting stronger. She needs to be- to be _unmade_ ," his tone is low there, some hardly dried bad blood. Still, he considers for a long moment, and then negotiation time. "If you help me find out more about the page so it can be read, or at least don't interfere with that, then when it's over I'll give the page to you."

 

Elias considers him for a moment. "That's a good opener," he informs him. "Except you're not taking into consideration that I am willing to throw away incredibly valuable assets to keep you safe and alive. So I am not going to agree to you _reading the page_."

 

Jon makes a face despite expecting as much. "Is it really so impossibly dangerous? Maybe if I _knew_ more about it I would be properly scared off," 100% petulant Archivist not getting answers because he's denied them. "With the information I do have it's easily the best chance we have to survive all this. Either I risk the Spiral's wrath by not getting them Nikola but destroy or lock away the page so the Unknowing can't happen, or I try to capture Nikola with... what? A large box propped up by a stick tied to a string?"

 

"You could bait her with the page," Elias suggests. "Especially if you find it quickly; I took out quite a lot of her... factory. It will take her a while to build up again, so she might have to come after it herself." Because waving a red flag at the raging mannequin is a genius idea, obviously.

 

"And then what, Elias? Even if she did fall for that what would we do that could contain her?" Jon asks, partially exasperated but partially curious. "And let's not forget her lackeys, and those damnable _movers_ of hers. The problem isn't bait, it's the trap or some upperhand to handle her."

 

"Get Michael to make you a door and then push her in. Surely the Spiral will cooperate to get what it wants." But he's probably joking. "Really, you're an inventive man and you have capable researchers at your disposal. Find another way."

 

"I'm not sure making some complex Rube Goldberg machine is really going to help," Jon answers dryly, but he hesitates, sighs, then takes one of Elias' hands. "I have no interest in doing something needlessly sacrificial, I promise you that. I will look more into this page, try and understand it and if it can be read with any measure of safety, and we'll go from there. Is that agreeable?"

 

Elias still doesn't look happy about it, but it's a better compromise, he can't deny it. Links their fingers together, looking at their hands solemnly, and then sighs. "All right," he says. "Yes. Do that. And be careful. I mean it, Jon, please."

 

"I will. I have no interest in saddling someone else with this title and- well, there's you as well," Jon offers a faint smile, barely a quirk of the lips. "I have a very good reason to make sure I make it home every day."

He brings Elias' hand up to kiss it, feeling better now that he spoke to Elias on the matter rather than hiding it. Well, to be fair he was omitting the fact he had access to the page at any time and that he wasn't going to tell Elias where it was because he couldn't be sure Elias wouldn't just take it to make sure he didn't read it, but it was a start.

 

Elias' eyes soften at that, and he exhales a light breath. "Yes you do. Don't put me in a situation where I have to choose between your life and the rest of humanity, please, because I will absolutely choose you, and I don't think you'd like that."

 

"Not particularly, no," Jon answers. "Though all this planning on being safe is going to be... difficult. I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to go around, looking for information when Breekon and Hope may very well be waiting to find me again. It's not as though taking the assistants with me would make things any safer. Maybe Basira, but even then, she's run into them before and been unable to do much."

That and she wasn't in a very good state. Jon sighs. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in field work, would you?"

 

Elias looks startled, and then laughs. God, he has so much to do and he can easily keep an eye on Jon from his office and yet— well. It's his fault Daisy's dead, and she was supposed to be serving this function for Jon. And it's not like he's wrong about the assistants. 

"All right," he agrees. The Institute probably won't burn down in his absence. "Consider me as acting solely in a bodyguard capacity, however. I'm still not going to answer questions."

 

Jon's slightly surprised at that answer, expecting something more along the lines of 'figure it out.' "Oh, well... yes, of course. It's not like _that's_ new," he answers, a hint of petulance forever at that, but otherwise nods in pleased agreement. He certainly felt a lot safer if Elias was around, not like he'd be putting the man's life on the line the way he would with the assistants or anyone else.

"I have no plans for today at least. And ah... thank you," he rises, moves to lean over and kiss the corner of Elias' mouth. "I very much appreciate the cooperation, I know it's not in your nature to be helpful when you could be sitting around smugly." Such a little shit, Jon.

 

Elias pulls him in a little roughly, because this is all just too sweet and a man can only take so much. (And maybe also he's a little cross about the page.) "You just tell me when, darling," he tells Jon like it's a threat (always with the threats) and kisses him with a reprimanding little nip. "Will you survive if I make you spend one more day at home? You can research from here. I'd just prefer you get as much food and rest and healing as possible if you're going to be running around London next week."

 

Jon's a little pleased at the treatment, honestly, slightly worried Elias may start handling him with kid gloves even after the injuries faded. He makes a soft noise at the nip, hands up against Elias' chest as he sighs. 

"Fine, I'll stay here today. I'll even try to keep working to a minimum. Never say I don't make sacrifices for you," he says dryly. 

Like a good house Archivist he kisses Elias goodbye as he goes to work and keeps his promise, mostly resting and reading and only working a little in between. Elias might, however, notice someone has come into his house if he has home security magic eye shit to inform him, and when he comes home he'll find Peter and Jon in the kitchen, one amused and the other irritated. Guess which is which.

"That is not now you chop anything, you neanderthal. I told you if you weren't going to be helpful you could wait in the living room," Jon tells Peter snidely, and Peter leans in with a smile.

"You could get up behind me and show me how it's done," he offers, and Jon rolls his eyes.

"You're an absolute menace, get out of the kitchen."


	14. french toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings include: Starvation, rats. 
> 
> Explicit content: Threesome, Double Penetration/Two Dicks One Hole, Competing to Last Longer, Breathplay/Choking.

It's pretty difficult to surprise Elias, and therefore he's already aware before he arrives home of who exactly is in his house. Still, he watches them both in the kitchen with more fondness than he really should have, before saying: "Hello, Peter," like it's perfectly ordinary for him to be here, and going to interrupt Jon's chopping for a quick hello kiss. 

"I've told you that you aren't expected to cook for me," he says, low and a little wry and ... okay, he likes the idea, sort of a weird mix of Jon expressing affection with simple gestures and a traditionalist streak that quite likes the idea of a housewife, even if said housewife is also his very male coworker.

 

"Elias, he's _cooking_ ," Peter says with deep amusement. This is basically the instant coffee scene from Ouran. He does retreat with a laugh at Jon's look, going to raid Elias' liquor cabinet. Jon sourly watches him go before Elias' hello kiss tempers his expression, lips quirking fondly.

"I'm aware. I enjoy cooking for you on occasion, so I'm afraid you'll need to suffer through it," he informs him. Admittedly he enjoyed Elias' reaction to it more than anything, that the gesture seemed to mean something to him even if it was simple. Ridiculous and trite, truly. "Though Peter can go hungry if he doesn't watch his hands."

 

"Has he been taking liberties?" Elias asks, amused. "I can cut off his hands if you like." He might actually, too, as lightly joking as his tone is. But he suspects Jon isn't actually as peevish about it as he sounds, fussy tsundere that he is.

"I should probably go and greet our guest properly," he sighs, because he's stopped pretending he can cook and there's no way in hell he's letting Peter know that Jon is teaching him. What he's actually going to do is come and fix himself a drink. 

"I could have sworn that last time I told you to call in advance," he says mildly. It's not necessary, obviously, but it's polite.

 

"A more tempting offer than it should be- but no. I suppose he can keep them," Jon sighs like the fussy tsundere he certainly is.

Peter, meanwhile, was enjoying a glass of scotch that he raises to Elias with a little smirk. Up close it's apparent he's maybe not in the best shape- skin with a pallor intense even for him, cheeks hollower than they should be, etc. "But it's always so much more fun to try and surprise you- well, the Archivist more now. You're painfully difficult to shock, unflappable as you are."

He takes a drink, leans next to the cabinet as he probably watches Elias make his own drink. "I'll be in London for a while, though you don't need to worry about me bursting the bubble of your domestic bliss day in and day out. 'Have a suite at one of the posh hotels- Bulgari, I think. Of course I couldn't resist coming to see you both- imagine my surprise when the Archivist was here, playing housewife for you. So sweet I could retch," he laughs.

 

He's had his share of shocks since he last saw Peter, but he isn't quite ready to discuss them. "He's been unwell," is all he's saying as to why Jon is home on a workday — and maybe also a warning, that Elias is feeling just _extra_ protective of his houseArchivist right now.

Perhaps a little protective of Peter, too, though, despite himself. Peter, too, looks like he's been unwell, and Elias is half tempted to tell him to stay here with them after all. But Peter is a goddamn unpredictable menace and Elias still feels uncomfortable letting him see his and Jon's softer moments, so he doesn't give in to pity.

Elias makes a drink for Jon (g&t) and one for himself (whiskey) and carries them over to the dining table, takes a seat. "Any particular London plans?"

 

"That so? Nate said something was brewing at the Institute, did your Archivist get into trouble again?" Peter was never one to take a warning and immediately pokes at what was no doubt a sore topic. He's clearly tired though, taking a seat at the table with his drink and moving on instead of pressing.

"A few, meeting Salesa tomorrow, apparently he's got his hands on something interesting, then tracking Simon down because that bloody ass still owes me a fifty," he swirls his drink, leans back with a sigh. "The Tundra's been... damaged, is the word. Going to be a good month before she's sea shape again, and even still I have to fill the crew roster up again. Only one survivor out of the whole bunch, and he'll be useless with all the fingers he lost."

 

Elias's thought process is simultaneously surprise that he didn't already know this, and the kind of ache he knows means he wants Jon to take Peter's statement, even though he shouldn't be doing any such thing, should stay focused on his current task and not waste precious energy elsewhere. And beneath all that, concern.

"What happened," he says, and then shakes his head. "No. No. Don't tell me. Will you write it down for me? In your own time, of course." Jon can record it eventually down the line, if it seems worth the tape. Elias' eerie eyes are snake-charmer fixed, like he can make Peter agree by will alone. (Maybe he can.)

 

Peter laughs, a genuine thing that's loud enough Jon glances over from the kitchen curiously. "Before you get upset you didn't know before, you're the first to hear. I just got in, haven't even told the family yet," that's probably the closest Peter is to being genuinely sweet, making that effort, which probably says a lot about their relationship.

He then pulls something from is pocket, a blank card with an address, a name and a room number written on it. "You can get a statement from the survivor- trust me, his will fill in more gaps than mine. I've given enough answers to the Archivist for a while, yeah?" He slides the card to Elias before going back to his drink. "We had an infestation of rats. Funny thing, given the measures we take to keep that ship clean and stowaway free. Funnier still how killing one just seemed to make three more appear, and how they went after the crew when they ate through the rations."

His smile is still surprisingly good humoured, though sharp. "Interesting times we live in, hm? Been a while since any of the others made a direct attack against my family. I missed my drop off too. Maybe that was the point."

 

He had it _prepared_ , the card. Elias is oddly touched. Some people bring gifts of wine or flowers, Peter comes bearing unique supernatural information. It's lovely, and Elias has to his the start of a smile behind his hand, ostensibly leaning his chin there instead. He takes the card, slips it into his breast pocket.

There's only solemnity in his voice, though, when he says, "I'm sorry about your ship." He is perfectly cognizant of what it means to Peter. "The Darkness and the Flame have been taking bites out of each other, and we're all aware of the Stranger's plans. The Archivist has been making deals with the Spiral," god he's dry as dust, it's like Jon isn't right there making them a pleasant meal in the kitchen. "And there's been more terrible music in London lately. It's like walking into a pen of dogs with a fresh steak lately."

 

Peter nods, "She's made tougher stuff than a few beastly rats can chew through. Biggest problem was the crash just to land her." He takes a drink, leans in to give Elias a long suffering look. "I haven't even told Nathaniel yet, that will be a fun few hours of my time wasted. Don't be surprised if he pulls favours trying to work out where the counter attack is being launched."

The bit about the Spiral has him glancing back at Jon, who was now humming softly under his breath to try and keep focused rather than eavesdrop and burn dinner in his distraction. "Ha, I wouldn't have expected the Spiral would want to make deals with an Archivist again, not after old Gertrude," he sounds endlessly amused, glancing back to Elias. "Well, no offense Elias but you didn't help much with keeping the pen calm, did you? Off the old Archivist, hide the new one for a few years then release him on the unsuspecting monsters while he's still trying to figure out what half of us knew before we even got started.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it. Really shakes things up," Peter continues, lips quirking and some energy returned to his tone. "The others never quite expect it from the Eye, like you weird lot don't love anything more than a _catalyst_."

 

"I love it when Nathaniel owes me a favour," Elias admits honestly, swirling his drink and smiling again. Even if he is relentlessly curious about what exactly happened; he may go take this one personally. Or he might send, hmmmmm, Melanie.

Peter's not actually wrong about any of it; between Gertrude and Leitner Elias has been whacking the hornet's nest because the results are interesting; that's just what they do. Still, some powers move in unexpected ways, like he's started something beyond his control, a supernatural landslide. Just mixing all the metaphors here.

"I'm glad you're having fun," he says, then tips his head, considering. "I don't suppose you'd like me to owe you a favour, would you? Jon's got some legwork to do and I don't really want to follow him around making sure he doesn't get kidnapped again. Seems like a fast way for neither of us to get any work done, really."

 

"Really make him squirm, will you?" Peter asks, tone pure and relentless mirth for Nathaniel's suffering. Brothers.

The request catches his attention, makes him glance over at Jon finishing up before turning back to Elias once again. "Ah, so that's what happened? The Stranger got it's mitts on him? No wonder you're twisted out of shape, nasty bunch, eh?" he says pleasantly. "Hm, a chance to see the Archivist at work, that's interesting. And you owing me a favour- that's even more so. Sure, Elias, I'll babysit him for you."

 

"Thank you," says Elias. He's not sure Jon will appreciate this change in plans, but Elias does have an entire Institute to run, and he isn't sure his presence wouldn't be too influential however out of things he stayed. "I'll be keeping an eye on you both, of course." Ha ha. An eye. "Should anything ... happen, I'll not be far. But having someone competent with him is... well, I'm grateful." Said flirtatiously, meant with disgusting sincerity,

He also glances over at Jon, fond and longsuffering, a little tense around the eyes now that he's thinking about him going back out into stupid danger. The man is _humming_. He has a good voice for it, though. "It's been a rough month," he admits, low, tired, still watching Jon but his gaze distant. "I had to sacrifice a Leitner to Gerard Keay to get him back, and I still wasn't fast enough."

 

"I'm sure you'll find a way to show your gratitude- maybe both of you," Peter says just as shamelessly back. "Though I doubt the Archivist will be entirely pleased. Likes playing hard to get, that one." Or maybe you're just a punk, Peter?? It's a little of both.

Peter's brow quirks in genuine surprise. "Must have been dire if _you_ dealt with the Keays. I'm surprised that greasy goth let you leave without taking a chunk out." It doesn't sound like Peter cares for Gerard. Elias probably knows this is because Gerard has thwarted him on more than one occasion and they probably hiss at each other like cats when they meet. 

"Looks like you were plenty fast enough to me, here he is and in one piece." Haha. "You're going to make yourself right miserable if you expect better." And, of course, he sounds a little pleased by that.

 

"My Archivist requires subtle seduction. A little romance. You're about as subtle as a wrecking ball," Elias informs him. But yes, perhaps both of them. He's pulled his gaze back to Peter now, and he has the look of a man who is very willing to repay what he's owed in the bedroom. Or over the kitchen counter, maybe.

Anyway. God. One piece. He knows Peter is delighted by the thought of their mutual suffering; maybe that's why Elias is teasing him with little tastes of it. It sounds like the man has also had a rough month. And it's not like Elias hasn't been making himself miserable over Jon. Someone may as well enjoy it.

"She skinned him," he explains, very quiet now. "So I'll warn you to refrain from making him at all uncomfortable about his scars."

 

Peter chuckles, clearly not denying he was the romantic equivalent of a bull in a china shop. "I don't know, I managed to seduce you well enough. You lot tend to be easy when you dangle a little information," he answers, and really if Jon looked over it'd look like they were ready to take this to the bedroom. Thankfully Jon is busy with his bullshit. 

He at least has the good grace to make a displeased face at 'skinned,' like he found the idea distasteful more than tragic. "Sounds right, nasty buggers. And I happen to like scars, thank you. I'm sure you remember as much," Peter's probably spent plenty of time tracing Elias' with his tongue. "But yes yes, I'll be good. No upsetting your Archivist, etc."

 

"I like that you're forthright," Elias responds, because he absolutely wasn't seduced by information, thanks, and earlier was just a fluke. (Though note that present tense, ooh.) "But good. Glad that's clear." Elias can also be forthright! Sometimes. When he isn't being a cryptic asshole.

Anyway, he finishes his drink, excuses himself from all this flirting to get them both a refill — and to help Jon bring plates over to the table since he looks like he's about done with cooking. He gives Jon a look that is the most married-couple-saying-I-love-you-with-just-their-eyes.

 

"Are you done with whatever plotting you two were doing?" Jon asks when Elias comes over, a statement that should be recriminating but came out soft thanks to that look. Peter makes an exaggerated retching noise, snapping Jon out of it. "Can we kick him out yet?"

"Aw come on now Archivist, I know you missed me a little," Peter says, and when Jon places one of the plates down he grabs Jon's hand, pressing a kiss on the knuckles as Jon starts in surprise. "Elias tells me I should be more subtle to win your favour. More _romantic_."

"My _favour_ isn't won, thank you," Jon pulls his hand away and is faintly red despite himself, which Peter just throws Elias a pleased look over. "Now be quiet and eat, you look awful."

Jon ignores Peter, fixing Elias' plate and handing it over. Just to be completely soppy it's probably reflective of what Elias seemed to enjoy most on their first date, like Jon was carefully paying attention to that information and storing it away with all the rest. Incredible.

 

Is Elias just the only one here who can be hideously romantic without the need to quantify it? "Telling him you're going to subtly seduce him is the opposite of subtle, Peter," he points out, but Jon is blushing — which is about all Elias managed to start with, so maybe Peter is on the right track.

Anyway, wow, yes, having a meal made explicitly towards his tastes is very sweet, and Elias gives him another adoring look (screw Peter being childish about it). It's a lovely meal — there's something about food made by someone who cares that is just slightly tastier than when it's made by staff. "My compliments to the chef," Elias teases — is Peter even at this table. He can't help himself, though, last night was — it cemented something lovely between them and he couldn't hide it if he wanted to.

 

Elias absolutely is. Jon gives Elias a flushed look. "Elias, stop giving pointers on how someone can woo _your_ fiance," he gripes as he takes his seat. Not that the griping lasts, he has a slight smile that won't seem to go away and is only strengthened by Elias' compliments.

Peter, of course, rolls his eyes, gives them both a long suffering if not distantly sorrowful, bittersweet sort of look. Jon decides not to dwell on it, Peter was an odd bird and apparently enjoyed such depressing states. He's even polite enough for once, mostly making small talk about the city until he mentions his agreement with Elias to guard Jon on his investigations.

Which Jon looks up at, surprised. "What? But- do you really want to get involved? I very much doubt the Stranger would hesitate to kill you. I'm well aware you can handle yourself but Michael Crew clearly felt the same before he was shot in the head."

"Crew was sloppy," Peter answers, waving a hand. "I am not. If you don't trust me, Archivist, trust Elias' neurotic need to protect you. He wouldn't give your care over to someone he didn't know could hold his own," he explains further then winks at Jon. "Adorable you're worried about my well being though."

"I am not- ugh, nevermind. I suppose you have a point," Jon admits, glancing to Elias.

 

Who nods. "Besides, if nothing else Peter can stash you both away from whatever the Stranger sends after you." The place with no people is fucking awful but it's also a place with no people. "Which is a more effective escape plan than I have myself." 

And he trusts Peter again, now. God help him.

 

"As long as he promises to bring me back," Jon replies grouchily, glancing over to Peter who was just amused at the whole thing. "They can't follow us there?"

"Not them, no. How could creatures who can't even fathom the idea of companionship find a place that's very definition is solitude?" Peter shrugs one shoulder and raises his fork as if conducting his words. "The Eye and the Stranger may be antithetical but Isolation and the Stranger are just two passing ships with little of worth to the other. They know how to fight you, they don't care to know how to fight me."

 

"Your brother was one of the first people I called when they took Jon," Elias tells him, a little grimly. "You were off on your little boat, of course." A slight curve of his mouth, like he knows that's condescending, is just baiting Peter a bit.

"You'll be fine," he informs Jon. "Not that I don't like spending time with you, but I imagine you'll get more done without me." Because let's be real they struggle to keep their hands off each other even in a professional setting.

 

Peter takes the bait with the slightest of smirks, bypassing Nathaniel's mention. "I wouldn't call it _little_." Peter. _Peter_. Come on.

Jon refuses to acknowledge that, and frowns at Elias. "I don't see why I would-"

"He means you'll end up necking in an alley like teenagers," Peter supplies helpfully, and Jon flushes. Well. Okay, Elias had a point there.

"Fine, fine. I see you two haven't given up making plans behind my back."

 

"You were right there, actually," points out Elias, gesturing to the kitchen, all innocent-eyed. Poor Jon, getting it from all sides. 

Speaking of. There are some decisions Elias is always going to leave solely in Jon's hands. For example: "Here's a plan you can be involved in. Are we inviting Peter and his big boat to stay the night?" he asks, and then adds an easy out since Peter is right there: "I don't want you to push yourself too hard, all things considered."

Shameless.

 

"Which was behind my back," Jon insists dryly. 

And, of course, Peter laughs in delight at that as Jon flushes. "Oh, I'm certainly hardy enough to handle a night over. I'm more curious if your Archivist is."

Jon clears his throat, "Well... I suppose, yes. I mean, I had somewhat assumed he may be staying."

Peter looks thrilled. "Any reason to blow Nate off another night."

 

"All right then." Elias considers Jon a moment longer, like he's making sure any hesitancy is embarrassment and not politeness, and then goes back to finishing his dinner, looking quite pleased himself. Reaches across and squeezes Jon's hand lightly and briefly.

 

Jon returns the grip, entwining their fingers, then gets to interrogating Peter about his condition and what happened. Peter dodges it all with amusement, promising he gave Elias a lead on someone to pour a statement out of and generally being an unhelpful butt otherwise. Nothing was different.

"Gonna use your shower, yeah?" He tells them when he finishes dinner, heading to do just that as Jon picked up the dishes to take to the sink like a dirty commoner.

"Lord, life is strange. If all the supernatural nonsense weren't enough we have a nihilist who comes to warm our bed on occasion," he complains. Or it sounds like a complaint but really, he's fine with it.

 

Elias follows him to the sink just to make sure he doesn't do anything so ridiculous as washing up, encouraging Jon away from the kitchen with a hand at his waist. "Are you going to need another drink for this?" he asks, maybe teasing but also maybe not. God knows even tipsy Jon became a lot less reserved.

"Look," he says quietly, and apparently further drinking will wait because he's getting slightly more handsy now, right in Jon's space, still in his neatly pressed work suit. "Peter has no boundaries, I have very few. Which is why I leave so much of the decision-making in this regard in your hands." He cups Jon's jaw gently. "Whatever you want from me tonight is all right, all right? But I don't have to sit on the sidelines this time."

 

Jon was going to do that, out of instinct more than anything, and is easily distracted by Elias as per usual. "I'm considering it. Peter certainly has a way that makes one want to drink."

He thinks about what Elias said, wonders how many damn boundaries he even had anymore. More than Peter and Elias, that was certain, though probably less than was healthy. He places his hands loosely at Elias' wrists, running his thumbs over the back of Elias' hands. "I don't want you to. I want you part of it, whatever it is, I-"

Jon pauses a moment, bites at his bottom lip before returning his gaze to Elias'. "No blindfolds or gags, not yet. I want to see exactly where I am and- you. Anything else you and Peter can work out, you're far more... _creative_ than I am. And I trust you."

 

"He certainly does," Elias murmurs his agreement, about Peter and drinking.

Something in the way Jon looks at him makes him warm through, and Elias kisses him gently, lingers in it a little longer than he had earlier as Jon was cooking, his eyes closed. Nuzzles their noses together, glad Peter isn't there to fake gagging some more.

"All right," he says. "And we all respect stop and wait, or you can signal me if you need to me to call a halt for you. Any reason, all right? Even if you're just tired and not enjoying yourself." He just wants to be super adamant about that, especially since Jon was a little flinchy about _Elia_ s touching his back, and he knows Peter will probably want to. He takes a deep breath, calming an errant flutter of nerves. "Come on," he says, "I could also use a shower."

 

Jon eases, some small tension of his shoulder lifting as he nods and takes Elias' hand. Peter's in the guest bathroom, Jon can hear him as they pass in the hall. Jon doesn't really need the shower, having taken a bath earlier in the day to help with the itching of his back, but he wasn't going to complain about another or sharing the space as Elias did so. 

When he gets inside he takes off his shirt, pausing to regard Elias. "Does he know about the... injuries, and such?"

 

"I mentioned she tried to peel you," nods Elias, stripping down himself in quick, perfunctory movements before starting the water running. "I didn't describe the extent of it. I wouldn't worry, Peter... finds that sort of thing particularly appealing. He was devoted to your scars last time, if you'll remember."

 

"Yes, these are rather more gruesome though," Jon answers dryly, but Elias had a point. Peter had likely seen worse- hell, Peter had likely _done_ worse. 

He walks over when he's done stripping, reveling in the fact he could do so now with next to no embarrassment. The times certainly changed. "When someone's as far along as Peter is, is it even possible to break them from their master to another?"

 

Aww. Elias's mouth curls at that question because he suspects he understands its origins, and he gives Jon a fond look. "Of course it is. There are certain of us that are so created by what we are that we can't survive without it — the Spiral likes to take and build its creatures so, the Stranger's mannequins and similar creations."

He tests the water and then steps in, holding the door for Jon to join him. "Jude Perry is all wax, and I'm also not sure what would happen if I defected — Beholding requires my death to move to a new host. But you and the other assistants could certainly change allegiance. And for some powers they use nothing more than indoctrination to bind their subjects closely."

He runs his hands over Jon's bare chest. "But Isolation is Peter's family. I'm not sure what's left of him _would_ give that up."

 

Jon follows, listens and sighs. He certainly doesn't like hearing about Elias' death in any form, and is slightly surprised he could change allegiance. Of course he was certain Elias would find a way to kill him immediately if he did, but the fact he could wasn't one he expected.

"I see..." he answers after Elias finishes, lips thin with disappointment. "He's horrendous, don't get me wrong, but he would be useful to have around more concretely." Fucking tsundere. Hesitantly he admits, "The way he lives is... horrifying. I know I shouldn't feel sympathy for a man that killed hundreds of people, or worse, but- well, it's grisly, isn't it?"

 

This big-hearted idiot. Elias isn't sure whether to kiss him or shake him, settles for a longsuffering amused look. "I love you so much sometimes," he tells Jon, affectionate laughter in the words. Obviously he doesn't believe a word of your tsundere bullshit, Jon. He decides not to point out that he himself has killed at least three people that Jon is aware of, plenty more that he is not. "You can ask him, of course." It never worked for Elias, but that means nothing. Peter is whimsical — and he _likes_ the Archivist, in ways that leave Elias both charmed and jealous all at once. "Or ask why he stays."

 

Jon gives Elias a sour look even as he takes the soap to lather in his hands that he runs over Elias' chest and arms to help clean him. "Please, he wouldn't for me. Asking him though... it may be worth whatever irritation it draws from him. I am curious, I must admit," and his curiosity was a little dangerous. Funny how monsters work. 

He gently pushes at Elias to turn around so he could run soapy hands over his back, and maybe a bit lower too. Scandal. "Speaking of we should get the statement of his shipmate tomorrow. Blasted man, refuses to give the full story when he _knows_ it's driving me mad. You two are so alike sometimes it's eerie."

 

"I think if you're going to go _exploring_ you should refrain from recording extraneous statements. I'll visit the man and get him to write it out." He can't strictly compel people, but he can be quite convincing. "Your curiosity can _wait_ , I'm sure." They do have such a lot of written statements, after all.

He hums, though, at all this attention, letting Jon clean him. He's glad to be facing away when he returns to the earlier topic, though, namely: "You should ask him," he says again quietly. "We are quite alike, after all." And Elias would do anything for Jon, who is basically monsterbait at this point.

 

" _Fine_. Give me a summary at least when you do," Jon answers, put out but at least he'll go with it. It's a good thing Elias took more of a role in his life because he probably would just be downing statements too fast otherwise.

Elias' quiet tone gets him, and he feels a sort of clench around his heart for the person Elias was when he loved Peter Lukas with abandon. He leans forward, presses a kiss to Elias' back. "Not in the ways that matter. But all right, I'll ask, if only to see what he says."

 

Elias shakes off any lingering sadness before it can grip him, and turns to rinse himself off, running his hands over his face beneath the hot water and then stepping out from under it to let Jon have at least a little bit of a shower, wiping the water out from his eyes with a soft splutter.

"Good," he says, kisses Jon lightly. He really enjoys this pre-threesome ritual they're establishing here, gentle reassurance in the bathroom. He squeezes Jon's arse fairly unrepentantly, just to break them both out of solemnity, and then smacks it lightly, making Jon a beleaguered Hooter's waitress once more.

 

And Jon takes that small shower, coming out to be properly flustered and offended by Elias being a skeevy customer in this Hooters au. " _Elias_ ," solemnity completely broken, well done. He gives him a Look before going over to kiss him despite that, then wraps a towel around his waist and exits to the bedroom.

Peter's waiting in a loose robe, glancing over the book Jon left on the night stand before turning to grin at their entrance. Without the barrier of clothing it's very clear he's thinner now, the unhealthy sort, and there's a smattering of healing scabs on his arm that look like small rodent bites.

"Rude to keep a guest waiting, you know," he says as he stands, robe shamelessly open. Bad health or not Peter was clearly never one to be shy about showing off the goods. "So Elias, you joining us this time?"

 

Elias doesn't comment on Peter's body, doesn't flinch, but he does think immediately of rats and feels unpleasant sympathy for what getting that ship back to shore must have been like.

"I am," he says, and he hasn't bothered with clothing at all this time which is probably a response in itself. "Jon's kindly leaving the decision-making in our capable hands." Though he's first taking some time doing boring shit like folding down the covers, making sure there's water and clean cloths and lube to hand, the usual Elias bullshit. It stops him from worrying too hard about the both of them, Jon with his scars and Peter looking wasted away.

 

"Ah, has he now," Elias says, very clearly enjoying the view of Elias doing his nerd preparation before turning to Jon. Jon was much less equipped to hide his concern for Peter's state, a pinched look he only loses when Peter walks up to him and grasps his chin to direct Jon's gaze to his. "Look at you, you're barely blushing. Elias must be doing an excellent job with the debauching."

"You could say that," Jon admits in a murmur, making Peter chuckle. "Well? What do you want, Peter?"

"Oh, quite a bit, really. Elias and I will have to negotiate, and not even behind your back this time," he lets go of Jon's chin, considers him a moment before turning to Elias. "I'm more interested in what Elias needs right now, I'll say. Poor thing must be beside himself with restless energy," he's mocking but it's Peter, he's always mocking. He also recognizes Elias' need to protect being trodden upon quite a bit lately.

 

"I'm fine," says Elias, because that's what he always says, though in this circumstance it's not wholly untrue; yesterday he'd cried like a baby and also been thoroughly fucked, so he's worked out some of that restless energy. But there's still a hint of it in his bright gaze. He climbs onto the bed, sitting up near the pillows with one leg folded elegantly, watching the both of them. Managing to look, once more, like an emperor awaiting his servants. Feed this motherfucker some grapes.

"If anybody's going to be coddled in this bedroom it's you, Lukas," he points out, brows lifting. Mockery begets mockery and all that. "But negotiate away."

 

Peter laughs while Jon enjoys the image, enjoys the both of them and their back and forth. It was interesting, satisfying somehow to try and figure out the twists and turns of their bizarre relationship. 

"Are you worried about me Elias? Now that's simply too sweet," Peter crawls onto the bed, leaning over to nip viciously at Elias' lips before pulling away rather suddenly to lounge on his side. Complete pair of hedonistic Roman nobles over here. "I could fuck you while your little Archivist sucks you off, or you could fuck him while I see how much better his mouth has gotten. We could see how much he can take- or you could fuck me and show him just how appealing and _sloppy_ you can look pounding into someone. I'll be around for a while, yeah? So no rush."

Yeah, Jon's come a long way but he still flushes at that list. "You two are absurd." Helpful.

 

"Alternately, we could tie you down and do whatever we like with you, we do have the numbers advantage, here," Elias says — this is not a serious suggestion. Though he does like the idea of tormenting Peter by making him watch he and Jon together without any attention. On the other hand, probably the man would commentate.

Anyway. His attention is on Jon: "Come here," he says imperiously, holding out a hand. Once he can coax him close he's just going to get him to lean back in Elias' arms like they're in the back again, pressing a quick kiss to his hair.

"You do propose some interesting ideas," Elias muses, hands wandering idly over Jon as he thinks. "If you're both going to fuck _me_ , I want it rough — face slapping, choking, marking, the whole affair. And honestly, I don't think the two of you are up to the task." Such a dick sometimes. "Jon's expressed an interest in taking both of us, haven't you darling."

 

Peter would absolutely commentate the entire time. "It would be hilarious to see you both try to break my composure." Not an easy task, Peter was a heathen like that. His lips quirk as Jon approaches, only a touch nervously, far more comfortable with all this than the last time Peter saw him. When Jon shifts into Elias' grip and relaxes further Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes at their sap. Disgusting, truly.

"Like I said, we have time. I think we'll have to revisit that option when we have the energy to properly put you through your paces- if you think your Archivist has it in him to play that rough," Peter teases, and Jon gives him a sour look. That look fades at Elias' next statement, watching as Peter shifts to situate himself in front of them, resting an arm on Elias' knee and effectively trapping him in with a smile.

"... yes, I am, interested that is," Jon answers, gives Peter a pointed look at the man's bright grin. "Don't let it get to your head."

 

Jon might not be able to summon up real toughness, but he might be tender, which would be just as likely to crack Elias open, maybe moreso. His arms tighten fondly (or maybe protectively) around Jon's waist, nuzzling at his ear, even as Peter moves into their space like a predator.

"We could take turns with his mouth and his hole," Elias says lightly, ignoring Jon even though they both just admitted they talk about Peter when he's not there. "Or maybe he could take both of us, he's very resilient."

 

Jon and Peter could good cop, bad cop it, which would probably be shockingly effective as hilarious as it sounded, and Jon certainly considers Peter choking Elias roughly as he slammed into him and Jon kissed the marks Peter left behind. Deviant. 

He melts into Elias' grip like he always does, strange with an audience but Peter was becoming something of an exception. Peter runs a hand up Jon's inner thigh, pushing the towel up and stopping with a bruising grip right where his hip met. "What do you say about me when I'm not around, Archivist?" Such a shit eating grin as he leans in. "Think you can take us both?"

"Yes... yes I do and- and it's none of your business," Jon chokes out, and Peter grins over at Elias. 

"We've never done this before, ought to be fun, yeah?" He leans past Jon to nip at Elias again, a sharp bite to his jaw and the briefest hesitation before kissing him. Peter did not kiss gently, always out for blood and sounds muffled in the cavern of his mouth.

 

He gets them, the sounds at least, Elias shivering against Jon at the sudden onslaught of violent kiss and making first a startled noise and then an enthusiastic one. When it breaks Elias huffs a short breath and leans his chin on Jon's uninjured shoulder, looking pleased.

"I don't suppose you want to have a little wager with me, Peter," he asks breathlessly, hands slipping downwards to untie Jon's towel, scratching short nails across his abdomen. "For which of us two can last longer?" Normally that would be a losing bet, but he has Jon on his side, and also Peter has been away at sea for quite a while.

 

Jon clearly enjoys the sounds and trembling, shuddering himself when Peter pulls away from Elias, biting at Jon's ear as he passed.

"Oh, you've caught my attention," Peter says, licking his lips as he forces Jon's legs wider (and Elias' by proximity.) "What's the prize? Bragging rights go without saying."

"If- lord," Jon starts, shuddering and biting back a groan as Peter's hand grasped his cock just to startle him. "You _ass_. If- if Elias wins you stay- you stay with us, for the night, when this is done."

Peter shifts back, a look of genuine surprise on his face before he reels it in to smug amusement. "How sweet, Archivist. You want to cuddle?" He leans forward, nipping at Jon's neck though his eyes are on Elias. "Thoughts?"

 

Elias looks as surprised as Peter does, honestly, at Jon asking directly for that, especially given how often he's muttered about kicking Peter out tonight alone. It's obvious he didn't expect it. "I was thinking a sum of money," he says, laughing a little shakily as he looks away, down Jon's body to watch Peter touching him, watching his cock respond. Brushes his fingers lightly over the other man's knuckles. "I suppose it depends on what you're asking in return."

 

The good thing about both Peter and Elias' hands on him is Jon's too distracted to feel awkward or second guess. He squirms a little as Peter tightens his grip slightly, head tilting back onto Elias' shoulder.

"Mm, that's a tough one. Asking me to go against my ah... nature," Peter chuckles, still thrown but recovering. "I suppose it's only fair to ask the same back- if I win neither of you can ask me any follow up about the Tundra and what happened. Honestly I just want to see you both squirm."

Jon certainly didn't sound pleased, making a soft scoffing sound that fell into a moan when Peter stroked pointedly.

 

"All right," agrees Elias, ignoring that Jon isn't pleased with that promise. It just means he'll be more inclined to help Elias win. (Obviously Jon himself doesn't have to hold off — Elias' hand dips, dodging Peter's, to gently cup his balls, roll them back and forth, thumb stroking the delicate skin.) "We have an agreement, then."

They sure do. At least they're not competing over who can get Jon off first — Elias isn't quite secure enough yet for that, but give it time.

 

Jon is absolutely on Elias' side in this ridiculous sex-off. He'd stop to consider how ridiculous his life has become that this sort of thing happened and would likely happen again, if he wasn't a little preoccupied with choking down a weak sound when Elias' hand joined in.

"Absolutely," Peter answers, all mischievousness, rough stroking going faster until he has Jon trembling freely. Then, of course, he stops with a firm grip at the base of Jon's cock.

"D-damnit-" Jon curses and Peter chuckles, putting his other hand at the back of Jon's neck to pull him forward and get a better look at Elias.

"You want to prep him?" He asks, careless though at least he seems to be following Elias' request and being careful of the scarring- for now.

 

"If you'll pass me the lube," Elias agrees, because he basically has two men atop him and cannot himself reach. However he takes this opportunity to rearrange himself and Jon a bit with a murmured "Kneel up for me, gorgeous." He's still lounging a little, gets Jon's knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his own thighs and then coaxes him to sit back again. 

Like this, he's going to be able to feel that Elias is hard, a warm nudge against one cheek, not so far from where he proceeds to put his fingers — nothing penetrative, just feeling out the crease of Jon's ass, circling his rim where it's still a little shower damp. "So tight," he teases, the pad of his finger massaging the ring of muscle without quite hooking through it, just wanting to make Jon squirm. "Can you really take us both? Peter is, after all, one of those rare instances where he has the cock to back up that monstrous ego." It's hard to say if that's a compliment or an insult. "I'll forgive you if you can't manage and need to let him use your throat instead."

 

Jon does as asked, flushed as he turns his head and only manages to catch sight of Peter rifling through the night stand. "I- I can," Of course he squirms, bites his lip, wonders if he would be able to take it but certainly wanting to try and sound confident. He feels more than sees Peter return, the bed dipping as he kneels to hand Elias the bottle.

"Elias just can't admit he likes that monstrous ego when it's pounding him into the kitchen counter," Peter answers. "Have you fucked him yet, Archivist?"

Jon licks his lips, shoulders tight. "That's none... none of your business."

"That's a yes," Peter chuckles, reaching to press Jon's head down so he arched up better for Elias. "Lovely, demanding thing when he's squirming around you, isn't he? Though you two likely got soppy with it. Disgusting, truly."

 

"Mm, we did," agrees Elias, refusing to be baited even as he is currently opening the lube and taking a palmful, dipping his fingers in and giving one to Jon immediately, not too fast but irrevocable, without warning or mercy. "Looking into someone's eyes as they slowly strip you raw and come inside you is a particularly exquisite pleasure, Peter." Sorry that you don't have the balls for it, you isolationist weirdo, is the subtext there.

"I've been thinking about it all day," he adds, not sure whether he's baiting Jon or Peter now. "I've been _feeling_ it all day," he adds, a little wry, working his finger into Jon with slick noises, adding another just this side of too soon.

 

" _All solitude is selfish_ ," Peter hums, being the pretentious isolation weirdo that he is, as Jon gasps against the bedsheets. "I'll never forget the look you had the last time I fucked you before everything fell apart. Exquisite pleasure, yeah?" 

He traces up Jon's back as he speaks idly, regarding the new scarring with interest. He can feel Jon's back tense under the touch, easing again with Elias' fingers stretching him. Jon breaths out in a rush at the second finger, dripping onto the sheets under him, face pressed against the bed as Elias' baiting worked quite well.

"Elias," Jon murmurs, and Peter leans over to kiss at the edge of one of the scars, making Jon tighten around Elias' finger in surprise as Peter smirked against his skin.

 

Perhaps he deserved that, Peter bringing up the past, but it still stings. Probably he will always be bitter about it, in some deep-seated irrational way; the wound may have healed with Peter's admittances he last time they were all together, but it's still tender where it was. His lips thin a little as he looks at Peter, this asshole with his poetry, so self-assured in touching Jon, though he's at least taking his time, easing Jon into it the way Elias once did with careful touches. They really are very similar sometimes.

If he feels any kind of way about it, he's channeling it into what he's doing to Jon rather than responding, the movements of his wrist deft and relentless. He hooks into Jon's prostate and screws it, opening him up with each twist. This is probably the bare minimum; Jon knows how to take him, and Elias could slip into him now. But two cocks is a bigger ask, and Elias keeps going, adds enough lube that Jon's ass and inner thighs are shiny with it, the press of his fingers crackling wetly.

 

Peter smiles, always ready to relish in the flare of pain in his chest whenever he hurt Elias even in a small way. Sometimes he considers extending that poetry, telling Elias he made him an alter to his god and prays at him whenever he passes. Elias would probably scoff, and the image of it makes Peter smile and run his tongue over Jon's shoulder blade, over and past one of the scars. He worries his teeth against clean skin until blood threatens to bleed and Jon's gasps sound more like sobs.

More Elias' effort than his- Peter pulls up, watches Jon tremble and grasp at the bedsheets as his body hungrily took more and more, watches Elias' hand move expertly and slick. 

"You know," Peter murmurs, leaning up to Elias as if to distract him, "I should have asked for you to beg as my reward. Not your stubborn, reluctant pleading you try to bite back, just on your knees and brazen. Well, _que sera, sera_ , as they say. I'm sure we'll find something else to bet over.

 

"I'm going to owe you a favour," Elias points out readily, not sure how to feel about this, about Peter so close and dangerous, proposing things that make his stomach drop. Because that _would_ be a favour — this isn't, even if Elias vacillates wildly between wanting Peter close and wanting to actively try and murder him to make him go away.

"Wait for me just a moment, darling," he murmurs to Jon, withdrawing his fingers loudly, trailing them over one cheek to leave a shine of lube behind. "Remember to breathe. Touch yourself, if you want." 

He wants both hands free to haul Peter bodily closer — god, is reminded immediately of how wasted he is and why, but pushes it aside. His icy eyes narrow, and he wraps one clean hand around Peter's throat, squeezes hard and kisses him.

 

"You are," Peter echoes, eyes dark and avid. "So much I could ask for that would be practical, but seeing you debase yourself that way may be worth more than a few useful bits of information or strings pulled."

Jon is missing most of this dramatic conversation, offering a ragged 'yes,' before clenching his hands into fists in the bed sheets to keep from doing just as Elias offered. He tries to glance back, focus, catches only the tail end of Peter's breathless laugh as Elias' hand squeezed his throat.

Peter kisses back as best as he can manage, still all teeth and rough. His grip on Elias' waist is painful but noticeably weaker, nails digging in as his lungs burned. He makes no move to try and tell Elias to stop, to pry him off, just smiles against the kiss and watches with blown pupils. If anything he seems willing to let Elias choke him to unconsciousness right there, just to see if he would. A hint of Beholding there, huh.

 

Elias breaks back from the kiss, just watching him solemnly now, something desolate in his eyes. He could kill Peter like this. Cutting off blood and air. All hell would break loose, but he could do it, Peter would let him take him right through to unconsciousness and then he wouldn't be able to fight back if Elias kept his breath stopped for just a little longer after that. For his sister. Or maybe just because he's interested to know what would happen next. Beholding loves a catalyst.

He lets go instead. 

Laughs a little, mostly at himself, murderous intentions passing like clouds across the sun. Kisses Peter again while he's still catching his breath, sweet and heartfelt, refusing to be baited into anything vicious, his hand resting lightly on the warm skin of Jon's lower back. "Why don't you go and give Jon something to suck on," he suggests with a little nudge.

 

Even when black begins to edge into Peter's vision he's still smiling, a surprisingly soft one given the gauntlet he was throwing down at Elias' feet. When it passes, when Elias lets go, his expression shifts to something unreadable. There are stark nail marks at Elias' waist when he pulls away. 

"You heard him, Archivist," Peter says, a ragged tone still edged with mirth. Jon shifts, not quite understanding what happened but knowing some sort of intense moment just passed. He opens his mouth and Peter doesn't let him start asking questions, sticking two fingers in and back until Jon gives up speech with a soft grunt and closes his lips around them. "Personally I think he's trying to cheat, get me more worked up so I'll come first. Shady little bastard, isn't he?" 

Peter's tone is fond, and he shoves his hand back so Jon would gag around his fingers.

 

That was absolutely Elias' plan — well, he did sort of enjoy watching Jon suck Peter off, felt like it might be particularly nice with all the blood rushing back into his body, but mostly he's being an underhanded shit. He pulls a face at being called out so blatantly, and goes back to fingering Jon open, watching him shake between them both.

God, he loves this man. Even when he's feeling slightly disassociated from that urge to take Peter's life, there's something very grounding about looking at Jon, touching Jon. Tracing the lowest of his scars, running a hand over his flank, reaching between his legs to stroke down the length of him with a lube-slick hand.

 

Jon's eyes water as Peter makes him gag again, grazing his teeth against the man's fingers in weak retaliation that makes Peter chuckle with delight. Peter pulls his fingers out, a string of saliva connecting them to Jon's panting mouth, and cups Jon's face. "You've gotten better," he approves, and Jon swallows at the faint pleased feeling the praise brings him.

Peter presses forward for a kiss, their first, smirking against the hesitance of Jon's mouth. It's absolutely to fuck with Elias, to fuck with the strange boundaries and lines of ownership and taking they set up. It's also because he wants to, and he has the feeling that's the only reason Jon allowed it, sap that he was.

When he pulls away Jon's groaning deep in his throat, and lets out a sharp cry as he comes from all this nonsense. Peter chuckles, pats his trembling cheek. "I think he's ready."

 

The kiss is meant to get to him, and it does, and so long as it does he knows Peter won't stop choosing Jon as the easiest way to get Elias by the vulnerable places. Elias _hates_ when Peter uses Jon to get to him — when anyone does, in any capacity, because it makes Elias feel helpless. Except Peter's always been good at making him enjoy a little helplessness.

It must get to Jon a little, too: he comes apart, and Elias strokes him through it, murmurs, "I barely touched you, Jonathan," but it's fond rather than a scold. 

Peter says he's ready. Elias isn't sure he is. Can he have another hour, please, to sort his brain out? But despite all his emphasis on safewords and consent, he doesn't call a halt to proceedings, just hauls Jon up, murmurs, "Turn around, turn around," and folds him in his arms, into his lap, pulls his orgasm-slack body over because he wants to kiss him. Wants to restake some claim lines Peter just tore up. "Do you want us to fuck you like this?" he asks gently, first.

 

Jon turns, wraps around Elias to support himself and stay upright. He feels strangely raw, maybe even more so than their first time with Peter, despite having his eyesight and mouth and hands free. He wonders if it's just Nikola still scratching under his calm, knows it's likely mostly due to the fact he didn't care about Peter before and now he does, in some way. Not love, likely never love for a man who so deeply hurt the one he _did_ love, but a genuine feeling of warmth he wasn't sure Peter deserved.

He kisses Elias, lets it ground him, shifts to cup Elias' face and hold him like something precious. "Yes," he murmurs after a delay, presses a kiss against the swell Peter left in his rough biting kiss of Elias' lips. "Like this, Elias." More soppy staring, though he felt maybe they both needed the grounding.

 

Oh, maybe he's going to lose after all. Elias goes from lost in his own head to here with Jon in the space of four soft words and a kiss. Jon's gaze is dark and swimming, his skin warm under Elias' hands, and for a moment Peter doesn't exist in the room with them, just the two of them wrapped up in each other. Elias smiles, then, mouths _I love you_ without saying it, and falls back against the pillows again, looking up at him. 

He reaches between Jon's legs again, then; toys briefly with the pink oversensitivity of his softening cock, then back to hook fingers where he's going to go. His other hand slicks himself, and then he guides those two points together — "I know you know how to take me like this," he tells Jon, low, remembering that drunken night. So him first, easy after so much prep.

 

Jon smiles when Elias mouths that, puts a hand over Elias' chest and it's a good thing Peter's behind Jon or else he'd be gagging his head off. He does seem to recognize the soft warmth of the moment, thankfully doesn't ruin it and just watches in the way only a man who worshipped the ache it caused could. 

Jon exhales, amused at the reminder of his drunken nonsense. "Yes, we've had some practice," he murmurs back, fighting the sweet lethargy of his limbs to shift and sink down on Elias' cock. He makes a soft noise, hand still splayed on Elias' chest and well yeah, quite an easier entrance than usual, wasn't it. It's not difficult to fully seat himself, closing his eyes a moment and swallowing against the intensity of the feeling so soon after an orgasm.

He glances back at Peter, a little uncertain he _could_ fit him but certainly far, far too stubborn not to try. "Come on," he mutters, prickliness rather ruined by the tremble to his words. "I'm not going to make it easier for you to- you to win by focusing on Elias."

Peter laughs, delayed, crawling up behind Jon and resting his chin on Jon's shoulder. "I wouldn't dream of cheating," he says like a huge cheater, reaching down to trace Jon's rim and the base of Elias' cock. "I was just enjoying the view, promise."

 

That makes Elias scoff, first, and then groan, as he feels that interested touch. "Put your fingers in, first," he encourages, since he wants to be absolutely sure they aren't going to injure Jon in some way. Even if that means he has to endure alone the tight clutch of Jon around him and the press of exploring fingers against his shaft. 

He takes in Jon's pink and parted lips a moment longer before he closes his eyes. He's fine. Some men use mathematics or history dates to distract themselves from pleasure; Elias has whole other people to go and sink into, leaving his body hard and trembling and incapable of quite crossing the brink. Truly, a cheater.

But he'll pay attention again once he feels Peter pressing in alongside him, eyes opening to watch Jon take it. Runs hands over his sides, his biceps, his jaw, reassuring. "Jon," he murmurs, and nothing else, just his name all tender.

 

Peter pushes him forward, does as he was bidden with a chuckle that Jon swears he can feel against his skin. Jon closes his eyes too, tries to relax his muscles, all while Peter's fingers stretched so far. Not too far, not yet, and he stubbornly clutches to that. Peter traces the scars on his back with a nearly unpleasant force, a distraction, he assumes, or perhaps using the opportunity to do so while he had the chance.

By the time Peter starts pressing in- slow and murmuring _that's it, Archivist, just like that_ \- Jon's gasping, eyes screwed shut and focusing with a singular force on adapting. He thought he felt full before, pinned beneath Elias that first time or shaking against Peter's onslaught. This, of course, was some extreme he's not entirely sure he can take but _wants_ to, groans high and needy against the sparks of pain even as a part of him was ready to panic and demand they stop in an instant.

He doesn't, and Peter's slow pace helps, even more so when he stops halfway and allows them all time to adjust. Peter growls low above him, a sound Jon would delight in if he had the mind too, but any focus he has is on Elias' soft words and hands.

"F-fuck," he murmurs, taking deep breaths, clutching at whatever his hands reach, which was Elias' chest and arms. 

"Fuck indeed," Peter breaths behind him, breathless humour undone at the edge.

 

Jon seems so overwhelmed that Elias' eyes are _wide_ open now, fixated on him. It's attentiveness, yes, one word or gesture and he'll stop this if Jon needs it. But arousal, too: he's never seen him quite this needy — or quite this determined, at least in the bedroom. It's a captivating mix, and Elias watches pain and pleasure overwhelm him in waves until Peter stops halfway and they all make a noise in disharmonious unison.

For his part, Elias is snug where he is, breathless but mostly good so long as neither he or Jon is moving, not sure how he'll hold out once they start fucking in earnest. Jon is clawing at him like a kneading cat, and Elias barely notices, except to touch his face and shush him idly.

But it's intimate as hell, having Peter's cock pressed so tightly against his own — he looks away from Jon long enough to catch sight of the other man over both of them, meet his gaze a moment. He smirks, languid, and says: "Come on, Peter. Keep going. He can take it." Confident in Jon's resilience, maybe more than Jon himself.

 

It's clear Peter's straining, maybe Elias was right about those long weeks at sea. He laughs breathlessly though, surging up at Elias' command and enjoying the cry it draws from Jon.

"Can you though, Elias?' he asks, smug for a man flushed and panting. He braces a hand beside them, pulls back slightly to push forward again with a guttural moan as he slides against Elias. He does so again, then again, a slow pace for his own sake more than Jon's, each movement punctuated by a low sound mostly covered by Jon's own cries.

Cries that Jon tries to swallow down after a few moments, trying to turn his head despite his full body trembling. "F-faster, damnit," he manages, not exactly the most convincing command with the way it pitches high at the end and he has to lower his head against Elias. Still Peter laughs, picks up the pace as much as he can manage with his resolve and state. Poor Elias' chest is going to be scratched to heck at this rate.

 

It's less the stimulation for Elias right now, and more watching Jon, coming apart at the seams but still demanding more from them. Though that's not to say Elias isn't making his own low noises; soft sounds at Jon's nails — between him and Peter's earlier grip his blue blood skin is going to be a mess.

He leans up, everything shifting, and kisses Jon lightly, before falling back again with a smile. Strokes Jon's face again, just once, and then reaches down and tweaks a nipple painfully hard to make him squeeze deliciously tight around them. "I wish I could see it," he admits lazily, "See you all stuffed with cock." He can imagine, at least.

But then his attention turns back to the straining mess of Peter working above them both, and he wonders if he can win if he's clever about it. "I can feel you," Elias tells him, all manufactured softness, and then he takes the hand that isn't busy holding the man up, and brings it to his mouth. Laps softly, worshipfully, at the palm and then the fingers, eyes on Peter. Then he suckles two into his mouth, lips a tight ring and cheeks hollowing as he takes them slowly in with the same reverence he'd show Peter's cock. His oral fixation comes in handy sometimes.

 

Jon isn't capable of any indignation or fluster at Elias' words or actions, something like amusement lost in a moan. He manages to press his lips to one of the scratches on Elias' chest before panting into it, words like _oh lord_ and Elias' name (and maybe Peter's, on occasion) lost to Elias' skin.

Peter manages better, manages a breathless chuckle at Elias' words and actions. He watches Elias' lips with sharp eyes, pupils wide as he mutters, "You dirty cheater, Bouchard," all fondness and edge. He doesn't pull his hand away, curls his fingers in Elias' mouth and thumbs at his bottom lip roughly, all while pushing in harder and faster. The sounds are lewd and slick, the pace punishing and sending full body jolts through Jon who gasps desperately through it. He at least seems to remember he's on Elias' side, attempting to push back into Peter.

"You two..." Peter breaths, and it's clear he's not going to last. He laughs at it, pulling his hand from Elias' mouth to grasp his bicep. More bruises for the poor blue blood, what a mess. He bites at Jon's neck, watching Elias until his eyes flutter shut and he comes with a muffled cry. 

 

Elias looks back brightly, and the triumph at winning this little wager is utterly secondary to the warm delight he has always taken in watching Peter climax, how open his roguish features become, alone for a minute in himself. 

He's in love with both of them, god help him.

Peter's done, though, and Elias is smug about it but doesn't have the composure to rub it in his face, not when Peter's come is a flood of warmth for him to press into. His attention switches back to Jon, and he smooths his hands up those straining thighs and thumbs the line of his groin. "Jonathan," he murmurs, slips a hand between them to curl around Jon's cock, stroking it in gentle little pulls.

 

Peter stays in place, panting as Jon grinds back against him with a helpless sound. He blinks down at Elias when he says his name, overwhelmed but aware enough for some feeling of triumph he shares with Elias with a small smile.

"Ah well," Peter finally murmurs, winded and amused, and he pulls out of Jon with a slick noise but doesn't pull away. Instead he manhandles him to sit up again, hands on his waist, lazily regarding Elias from his shoulder. "This is the second time Elias will fuck you when you're all slicked up with my come. Becoming a bit of a tradition, yeah?" he murmurs, nipping at the bite of before and pushing Jon down in time with Elias' strokes. He moves one hand and pulls back, pushing Jon enough to run his fingers to Elias' balls, wet with lube and now Peter's come.

 

"I like it," admits Elias, like everyone in this bed didn't already know he kinks hard off sloppy seconds. He seems weirdly composed, if a little flushed, but his hand on Jon's cock is growing unsteady, and when Peter touches his balls they're full and high and sensitive, and he groans, eyes fluttering shut.

"Damn you both," he murmurs, undone, and then hauls himself upright, shoving up from his elbows and tossing a hand back to keep himself there. He just wants to be closer, to Jon and also to Peter, kisses the latter over Jon's shoulder and then kisses Jon. He's sort of been riding a plateau of being so overstimulated he's numb, but something about the new angle is too much for him and he makes low, sharp noises against Jon's mouth, then tenses and comes with a full body shudder, a peak that seems drawn out and too sharp. 

Afterwards, in the quick downswoop of total emotional emptiness that always follows that lightning bolt high, he meets Peter's eyes, something like understanding there. But Jon's got him, is still slick and warm around his cock, clutching at his chest and shoulders. Elias licks up the sweat from his neck and bites his earlobe fondly, hand working again despite the lack of space between their bodies.

 

Peter's kiss is biting and Jon's is soft, both are sloppy and uncoordinated, breathy as Peter slowly catches his breath and Jon can't catch his own. Jon's beyond comprehension now, sobbing out with abandon and nerves on fire, overstimulated and tight. Peter keeps him held up, shifts him on Elias' whims, lips quirked and hollow eyes taking them both in. When Elias comes Jon sobs softly, tears in his eyes. Peter simply meet's Elias' gaze, resting his chin on Jon's shoulder, his hollowness knowing.

Unsurprisingly it doesn't take long for Jon after that, Elias' teeth at his ear and Peter's at his neck, Elias' hand on his cock and Peter's kneading into his waist. He comes and collapses against Elias' shoulder, rubbing his face to the skin there, tears and sweat mixing. He can barely think but his mind registers the two bodies on either side, soaks up the warmth and discomfort and low ache. He has a blinding moment of fondness for these two monsters, for finding a place between them, for his pathetic weakness for being _wanted_ and _held_. 

He swallows thickly against Elias' shoulder, making a soft sound when Peter moved away. "You... lost," he croaks, has enough mind too, and he can't see Peter but imagines the look he gives in return is unreadable.

"I did. I'll keep my word, Archivist," he says, hollow and fond. "But I'm getting water and a washcloth first, you both made a right mess."

 

Elias waves a hand to the nightstand where he has exactly those in preparation of exactly this moment; he's not really up to words yet, and he's certainly not moving. Digs Jon out of his shoulder and kisses him, his damp face and then his mouth, and then his mouth some more, just over and over while they both recover a little.

He's gone soft inside Jon, can feel what a mess that's making, so he welcomes something to wipe up with. Eases Jon off to the side so he can clean up (or Peter can clean him up; he won't protest either way.)

Then he basically just collapses and lets the two of them sort out who's cuddling who (though if Jon looks to him he might answer with a telling flick of his brow that he's not adverse to Peter being piggy in the middle this time — he did lose, after all.) Anyway, he's worn out, take pity on an old man.

 

Peter plays nice enough, cleans up not all that gently but thoroughly, even if he throws the dirty cloth to the side for whoever to deal with later. When Jon regains himself enough to think rather than just kiss and curl into Elias, he glances at Peter and takes in what is clearly an uncertain look. Jon huffs, pulls away to get Peter between them, who goes with a quirked brow and all but collapses when he finally does decide to unwind. He looks exhausted but sated, and Jon latches to his side without hesitation, resting an arm over Peter's stomach to touch Elias.

"Sleep," Jon murmurs almost drunkenly, closing his eyes. Lucky for you old men he's too tired to mention your ages, drifting off rather quickly to the pleasant ache of his body.

Peter watches this, then Elias, eyes sliding up as he breathes out in amusement. "Incredible."

 

"Hard to say whether it's instruction or just an announcement of his intentions," Elias says drolly, speaking at last, his voice rough. He tucks the covers tighter around Jon's shoulder, then turns his attention to Peter. Who looks a little improved, thanks to sex and a good meal.

"He really likes you, you know," he informs Peter, half rolling atop him and tucking an arm on his chest to pillow his chin there, barely able to keep his eyes open. He knows Jon probably doesn't want to admit that, and normally Elias is a better secret keeper, but he's not sure Peter actually realizes. "Be gentler with his heart than you are with mine, please." With that, Elias' eyes finally fall shut for good, and he sighs, content.

 

"It's not in my nature to be gentle, Elias," Peter murmurs, though he suspects Elias is already asleep. He watches him, then Jon, and if there is anything like gentleness in that gaze there are no other open eyes in the room to see it.

 

He's still there the next morning, snoring softly and very much intent on sleeping in. Jon stirs long before him, still curled to his side, finding himself faintly pleased Peter had an arm around him. Jon blinks blearily, stretches and mutters to himself, "So much for getting any work done today."

 

Elias is awake, has been awake for hours, content to quietly watch the two of them sleeping, occasionally going off in his own head somewhere. He comes back to himself when Jon moves, looks at him across the span of Peter's chest. 

"You know that was never going to happen," Elias tells him, and then lifts up and climbs decorously across Peter without properly disturbing him, before collapsing on top of Jon instead. "Good morning," he murmurs, settling in like he has no intention of letting Jon leave this bed just yet. Hope you didn't need food or the bathroom, Jon.

 

Jon huffs, settling back and enjoying the solid weight of Elias against him despite the fact it kept him trapped in place. "I could still work from home," he retorts, reaching up to cup Elias' face and kiss him, hands moving down before-

"Lord, we did a number on you," he murmurs, tracing the scratches and bruises. He sounds a little pleased, likes the marks despite himself. Deviant. "How are you?"

 

All deviants here, Jon.

The marks are very good, he can't deny it, just hums to himself as Jon touches them. "I'm good," he says, and it's truthful this morning. "I think we all deserved this." It's been rough lately, and throuple snuggles are rejuvenating. He kisses along Jon's jaw. "Want to come teach me how to make pancakes? Or perhaps French toast, I feel I should live up to my heritage."

 

"Yes, we did. Life affirming and such," Jon answers as he traces another scratch, leaning his head to give Elias better access. 

The comment on French toast makes him chuckle and he nods. "Yes, I certainly could. I can even make it how my grandmother did, if you really would like heritage in it." He runs a hand down Elias' jaw, then, "You'll need to get up, of course."

 

"Mm, afraid I'm not a fan of _that_ idea," says Elias petulantly, because they're all warm and naked and Jon's skin feels so good under the little presses of his mouth. "Can't you teach me from bed?"

 

Jon chuckles, enjoying the way the movement of his chest jostled Elias. "The recipe isn't exactly pillow talk but I could recite it. Rather loses the point when the end result isn't _actual_ French toast," he answers, hopeless fond as he runs his hand through Elias' hair

 

Elias sighs. "No, you're right, all right." One more quick kiss and he rolls off Jon and forces himself to get up. "Lying there and imagining French toast would only make me hungry." He's going to find something casual to wear so he doesn't risk burning anything important while they cook.

 

Jon follows, stretching his arms over his head and pausing only to check back and see if Peter was still asleep. He was, and Jon's content to toss the covers more thoroughly over him before getting dressed in pajamas because he was not going out today, thanks. His slight limp might have something to do with that.

He's smiling slightly as he gets ingredient ready, the loose limbed contentment of a nice morning after. Hell, he was becoming _pleasant_ with all this sex and love and nonsense. Completely ridiculous, he had a reputation to maintain.

"You like cinnamon, I hope? Then again you are the least picky eater I have ever met," Jon asks, brow raising.

 

"Cinnamon's fine," Elias agrees, apparently proving that rule. He's just following Jon around the kitchen, watching him prepare things. Catches him by the waist before he can turn on the burners and kisses him.

"You're limping," he points out playfully, squeezing Jon's ass through his pajamas. "Feeling a little sore? I'm suddenly regretting getting us out of bed." Because he wants to _investigate_ , the sadistic nosy motherfucker.

 

Jon huffs into the kiss, a sound that becomes a little higher pitched at the squeeze. He gives Elias a Look, lips threatening to quirk again as he speaks dryly, "Yes, Elias, you and Peter were... _thorough_." That's a word for it. "Soreness is to be expected."

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Elias' mouth. "The bed will still be there after French toast. You could even be a true hedonist and eat it there, if you're neat about it."

 

"I could certainly eat something there," says Elias airily, apparently uncowed by that capital-L Look Jon just directed at him. But he does let him go, because they're almost at the cooking part, and rounds the counter to be a little less of a distraction.

 

" _Elias_ ," Jon reprimands, as if he wouldn't into it. He rolls his eyes and turns the pan on, pointing the bowl out to Elias and which ingredients to whisk together. 

"That's what you'll soak the bread in. My grandmother always let them soak for a good two minutes on each side, assuming the slice of the bread is thick." Fun fact, I hate French toast but I sure know how to make it real good. When the bread's left to soak he leans against the counter. 

"I suppose I should have found out if Peter has any allergies." Oh well.

 

"Nothing that I know of," says Elias, who knows everything. Though maybe he's just saying that so that they can feed Peter egg and he'll suffer and die, after last night's little breathplay interlude who the fuck even knows.

Anyway, bread is soaking, pan is heating, Elias is resisting getting back into Jon's space and it's really obvious.

 

Jon happily missed that drama, though he did notice the throat bruising this morning. Boy, were these two weird. He resists asking about it, for now, focusing instead on showing Elias how to heat the pan with butter, how to mix a little butter, cinnamon and syrup in a small pan to heat on low as they worked on the bread.

"All right, now put the bread on there, make sure not to brown the sides too much," he steps aside, gesturing for Elias to be the god of their breakfast fate. Surely this couldn't go wrong. Also Jon's pretty amused at being the overseer for once, and may shift a little too close. Amazing.

 

Elias loves playing god! This is great! 

it probably would go just fine, since it's just French toast, but Jon is right there, and Elias gives in and turns, nuzzles the line of his neck, mouth worrying a little at the place Peter bit out a mark like he intends to cover it with his own, remapping his territory. Jon's neck smells good, and so does the cooking breakfast.

"Have I mentioned I love you today?" he asks, because he's allowed to be disgusting whenever he wants.

 

This is exactly why these two men can barely feed themselves, and no one is surprised.

Jon doesn't notice that Elias is a whimsical and absent god of their breakfast, making a soft noise that no doubt encourages this behaviour. He's content to run his hand up to the back of Elias' neck, brushing over the ends of his hair. "No, not yet. Please, do go on," he answers, all fondness and-

right that egg mixture gets crispy fast. "Ah, damnit, flip the bread," Jon hurries to do it instead, why even order it then Jon, frowning down at the far too dark brown side. He gives Elias an unimpressed look that only holds for a moment before it breaks into a smile and a hopeless chuckle glancing away. "Lord, you've ruined me. I can't even be properly cantankerous now."

 

"Not with me, anyway," says Elias smugly, because let's face it that's truly excellent. He can get away with anything now he knows the secret to keeping Jon happy is just overstimulation and two person's worth of affection. The time off work is also probably helping.

"I'll just let you finish up, shall I?" he asks, backing off, since obviously he's doing more harm than good here. "We can give Peter the burned one."

 

"We'll see about that," Jon answers, though he immediately nods and smirks ever so slightly at the idea of giving Peter the shit toast. 

He finishes the rest up quickly, drizzles the syrup over them and sets them on the counter with a quirked brow. "There, do you think you learned anything or were too busy being unbelievably trite?" The fondness in which he says 'trite.' It was somehow become a pet adjective.

 

"As always, I retained everything," says Elias, and as always he has come away fairly certain he learned something but not certain he'll ever apply it. He admires Jon's handwork for a moment (he's too old to be into photography social media or else he'd take a picture.) Slips both arms around his waist. "Looks delicious. Seems I've forgotten what we were talking about before, though, where was I? Telling you... hm, it's the tip of my tongue ..."

Peter is going to need to start spraying them with a water bottle.

 

Peter _is_ going to spray them with a water bottle.

"Do you two ever cut it out? Christ, it's like having two teenagers in the house," here's the boy, shuffling out in only boxers and a jaw cracking yawn. Jon had been busy smiling sappily at Elias and starts slightly when Peter ruins the moment, giving him a deeply unimpressed look and pointedly shifting further into Elias' space.

"No one asked you to get up. Please, go back to sleep and give us a few more blessed hours of peace," Jon shoots back, proving he can still absolutely be cantankerous. Well, until, "Have some breakfast first, you're ghastly to look at."

Peter chuckles and picks up one of the pieces like a heathen, taking a seat on the kitchen counter like a double heathen.

 

Goddammit, Peter. "Do _you two_ ever cut it out," Elias asks dryly of their bickering, as though he isn't just as bad at times. Speaking of, after a bye-for-now kiss to Jon's temple, he detaches to come examine Peter's throat interestedly, traces his fingers across it. "May need to borrow one of my scarves," he says ruefully, but his eyes are alight with something pleased.

 

Jon rolls his eyes at that, leaning in to the kiss but then heading away to make them all coffee. Peter, meanwhile, munches down on that syrupy toast, tilting his head for Elias to see and winking shamelessly. "Cute you think I'd want to play demure and hide your little unplanned breathplay. Also cute you're pretending you don't like seeing them."

"I'm fairly certain most people aren't such degenerates that they'd see that ring of bruising and think _breathplay_ ," Jon bickers from the coffee pot, because fuck you Elias you are just as bad at times.

Peter finishes the slice of toast, then proceeds to noisily and sensually suck the syrup off his fingers while staring Jon in the eye. This, of course, makes Jon turn with a loud scoff, and Peter grins in triumph.

 

Children. He's sleeping with two giant children. Elias smacks Peter's thigh sharply to get his attention back: "Stop that," he says in a way that's probably also kind of cute, at least if you're the guy who's had him on his knees as much as Peter has. "I'm speaking to you."

Pay attention to your unimpressed beanstalk first, Peter. "I don't want your family asking any questions, and I don't want any interested parties thinking you're weak — in general I want you looking as strapping and infallible as ever." Hey that's almost a compliment. "So you'll borrow a scarf. I'll still know they're there." Also, Peter wearing his clothing is as good as Peter wearing his marks.

 

Peter glances over and finishes blowjobbing his fingers with a pointed pop as he pulls the last one out, giving Elias an innocent look. "I was listening."

Hm.

Peter chuckles at all that, resting his chin in his hand. " _Protectiveboss_ ," he pushes back, walking over and taking Elias' hand to suck whatever syrup remained off, all while watching Elias of course. Jon rolls his eyes. "You have my number. Give it to the Archivist, since I'll be babysitting."

" _Goodbye_ Peter," Jon says coolly, and Peter throws him a sweet look before heading to the bedroom to throw his clothes back on, as well as one of Elias' scarves. When he comes back out he looks rumpled and completely owning his walk of shame. Knowing him he'll just go meet Salesa like this to make a point.

He leaves without a proper goodbye, because he's like that, and Jon sighs. "Infuriating. I don't know how you stand him."

 

"This may surprise you," Elias tells him, "But I like my men quite rude." Mostly he's just making a point about Jon's capacity to be a dick. Though in this case he is quite glad to see Peter leave — despite the thrill of his warm mouth, despite the attraction of his easy carelessness. He spoils a nice morning, can't not, and he knows it. The fact that they kept him for the night is enough.

Anyway. Elias was absolutely serious about taking Jon back to bed — soothes that overused hole with his mouth for an hour or so, massaging Jon's hips and ass and thighs. Brushes his teeth, after, does some fancy skincare he skipped out on, then just brings the crossword and fresh cups of coffee back to bed. It's one of those mornings.

 

Jon enjoys their morning activities, probably spends some time of his own pressing hands and lips to the scratches he left, and is back to disgustingly good moods when Elias brings in coffee.

 

"We could get married this week," Elias says idly, head on Jon's shoulder. "If you want. If you do find the skin page, whatever you do with it, there's going to be a lot less urgency to stop the big ritual. And the paperwork wait-time has passed. We could get Peter to come witness."

 

The suggestion makes him smile slightly against Elias' temple. "Only if he promises not to make gagging noises the whole time," he answers, then takes Elias' hand in his. "Yes, I would like that- about damn time, I'd say. It's rather hard to believe all this started the way it did, deception and fake engagements."

 

"I think it started a little before that," murmurs Elias, looking at their hands and smiling. He's so deeply content right now he almost wants to make gagging noises at himself. "But yes, that whole debacle seems quite far off now."

He leans more into Jon, closes his eyes. "We have suits, we have rings, we have a witness, we've given notice, and we have honeymoon plans. Anything else? Some music to dance to? Vows? I don't know how much you want to do in public."

 

"We have suits?" This is Jon, who sometimes doesn't notice obvious things. That would explain the measurement taking, and he considers. "I quite liked the song we first danced to- _La Vie En Rose_ , if I remember correctly. I would rather not dance in front of Peter Lukas, thank you. I... prefer privacy, when we can have it."

Easier to be thoroughly disgusting when no one was watching.

 

"We have suits," Elias confirms with a little smile, running a hand back and forth over Jon's thigh. "The tailor may need to make some adjustments."

As for dancing, he considers: "We can do the paperwork bit at the Town Hall, and then we'll go somewhere else. Just the two of us. And you can dance with me." And because he's feeling suffused with the warmth of it: "I love you."

 

"Lord, a tailor. Never seen one of those," such a poor person, this Jon. He shifts closer, smiling against Elias' hair. "I'll admit, I'm rather excited to see you in formal wear."

That smile only sappily grows, and he resists the urge to laugh at how incredibly ridiculous they were. "I love you as well, if it wasn't apparent. Where will we go? Back here?"

 

"No," says Elias softly. "I'm going to whisk you away on a honeymoon, actually." Mmm, secret plans. "You'll have to pack an overnight bag. Just the essentials. I may not even let you out of the bedroom." The smile is audible in his voice.

 

"Ah, secrets, my favourite," Jon says dryly, but it's clear from his tone maybe this secret would be more than a little acceptable. "No hints at all on what to pack? I suppose if we have it your way clothes won't be obligatory." These incredibly gay fucks.

 

Elias laughs. "Warm travel clothes, and a set of daywear. Shoes you don't mind walking in. Toiletries. Electronics. A book or something. An overnight bag, Jon. I mean, you're of course welcome to just bring a bag full of sex toys you want to use on me, we can buy anything you need."

 

This time Jon laughs, a short huff as he rolls his eyes. "I think I'll refrain this time." This time, huh. "Warm travel clothes and shoes for walking... very well. That shouldn't be difficult." He then pauses, sounding a little mystified. "I suppose this means we'll have an anniversary soon. How proper."

 

"Well, we'll have to survive a year before it becomes meaningful," Elias points out, perhaps a touch pessimistically. "Let's just get through the wedding, first. One step at a time, Jon."

 

"Now who's the pessimist?" Jon asks dryly, then rolls over and kisses Elias quite soundly, as though part of him agreed and felt guilty for it.


	15. nathaniel lukas / candy crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content: Threesome, Anal Sex, Elias Bottoming, Rough Sex, BDSM, Face-fucking, Spanking, Verbal Degradation, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Subspace.

By Monday Jon's back really did seem largely better, or at least in the healing phase where wounds didn't open easily and bandages were unnecessary. Jon himself has the quiet determination of a man with a plan set before him, though he seems reluctant to speak of it too much with Elias. It's likely painfully obvious he's still leaning heavily towards reading the page and doesn't wish to say as much.

That Monday morning is a strange one, where Jon finally sits down with the assistants and talks to them candidly about what was happening. It's awkward, between old bad blood, Daisy's death, fear and the fact they heard his statement of how it felt to have the skin peeled from his back. Of course Peter shows up and breaks the awkwardness soundly, cheerfully introduces himself and quite aggressively flirts with anyone he can. He takes particular delight in riling Jon: "For god's sake, stop it this instant, I don't even know _how_ someone menacingly flirts but you're doing so to Melanie and I won't have it- no, I am not _jealous_ —"

Peter and Jon go about their investigations, which is likely a hilarious headache to witness. It's safe enough, with Peter only having to take them to that lonely place once when puppets try and find them.

("He's worse than you with eating, I swear. I have to remind him for practically every meal," Peter will tell Elias in his office on Tuesday, then tries to convince him one of them needed an under the desk blowjob.

Elias will blow Peter in his office because he's generous like that, and because it's nostalgic, and maybe also because he's appreciative of Peter literally babysitting his fiancée — the condition is that he tells Jon all about it later, about what it was like to have Elias all quietly slutty on his knees, sucking like his life depended on it.)

Elias gets his statement from the surviving sailor. The man is eager enough to get it off his chest to someone who would believe him, tapping one of the three fingers he still had against the hospital sheets. He tells of a normal voyage on the Tundra, of skittering no one could pinpoint until holes and bites started appearing in the food. He tells of the men sent to guard the rations and keep watch, the unease, how it didn't help, how two disappeared and the last they found chewed up like steak tartare. He describes the creatures as not rats, not really, to slick and oily and smelling of meat. He explains that when the food ran out the things turned to the crew, and when time went on the crew turned on each other. 

He describes eating a finger, his own finger, that one of the things chewed off. He talks about the taste of marrow. He tells how he only saw the captain once, walking to the corpse of his first mate and sticking his hand in the swarm of creatures over it. The captain pulled back, a boatswain's call in his hand and the things not quite like rats latched to his arm, chewing. He then pulled one off, tore into it's neck with his teeth, chewed and swallowed. Took another bite. Didn't flinch. The man says the captain scared him more than the rats at that moment. 

Weirdly enough the Lukases do not call immediately, demanding information. It isn't until Wednesday, right after lunch, that Rosie knocks and comes in when bidden, files in hand.

"Here's what you asked for, Mr. Bouchard," she offers whatever it is, boring budget shit or blackmail, who knows. "I confirmed your meeting with the police chief on Friday, and Nathaniel Lukas' secretary called. She says he's on his way, and he's hoping you'll have some time to meet him. He apologizes for the lack of warning."

It's very clear Rosie's been around the block enough to know some bullshit's going on there, and doesn't sound entirely convinced about the apology. "I still have her on the line."

 

Elias is just working quietly at his desk, takes the files with a murmured thanks, not looking up from his typing until Rosie says Nathaniel's name. Then he pauses, the soft click of the keyboard halting, and hums. 

"No, that's quite all right, Rosie dear. Thank his secretary for the call, reschedule my afternoon. When Mr Lukas shows up, please tell him I'm in a phone meeting, get him a hot drink, and let him wait in the foyer — I'll give you a fifty dollar bonus for every ten minutes you can keep him out there without leaving or breaking down my door."

 

"Of course, Mr. Bouchard," Rosie says with all the professional cheerfulness she usually had, though there's a sharp amusement to the sweet turn of her smile that tells she'd probably keep the man waiting for free. She gives a small head bow and leaves.

She manages to keep him for forty whole minutes, and puts on a very convincing act of beleaguered surprise when Nathaniel finally forces her hand. "My apologies, sir, Mr. Lukas insisted," she says when she knocks then steps in, looking perfectly apologetic when Nathaniel enters.

He looks like his brother, of course, same colouring and general build though his own hair is salt and pepper and everything about him is the clean cut of rich family and business. Unlike Peter he does nothing to hide his hollowness, seeming more like an echoing cavern than a man if stared at too long, and even the faint lines of irritation around his eyes don't do much to counteract it.

"Bouchard," he greets, tone level though Elias certainly knew him well enough to smell the stirring of irritation. Rosie nods to them both, says she'll make them some tea and heads out with a smile. Nathaniel does not watch her go. "I apologize for the interruption, but I'm afraid I must insist on a meeting."

 

Elias has been watching with amusement, of course, both for the entertainment and because he's ready to rescue Rosie if Lukas gets actually dangerous — but he has the phone to his ear when Peter comes in, makes a show of apologizing and hanging up. It's very obviously a performance. 

"Can't be helped," Elias says, sitting back in his chair, chin high. "Take a seat, Nathaniel. I hope you weren't waiting too long. What can I do for you?"

 

Nathaniel is the type who refuses to acknowledge the act of things, to call Elias out on what he knows is bullshit and, in return, will never admit to his own. He's good at hiding distaste but Elias is good at seeing, so the lines of it crinkle his eyes a moment before he takes his seat.

"I would like a copy of whatever statement you've taken on the incident with the Tundra, for our records," he starts, and though he'd probably ask for this anyway it's probably clear from the slightest edge to his tone that Peter was largely being uncooperative with all the details. "Peter assures me he hasn't given a statement but he directed you to a man who could. If you've done any preliminary investigation into the matter I would very much appreciate that information as well, and to assure you we can take care of the rest."

 

"Oh, so this is a Cease and Desist notice," Elias says, smiling. "Very well. I'll have Melanie put together a copy of the statement and whatever else she's found out so far. However I'm afraid my Archivist and his assistants are quite tenacious in wanting our records to be complete, so they will likely continue investigation up until it can be recorded and filed. I _can_ keep the statement out of the publicly accessible collection, if you'd prefer."

 

"Hardly, Elias, simply an attempt to keep you from wasting resources you may need for other matters," Nathaniel responds, all pointed implications and pleasantry. "Of course I insist all matters pertaining to the Lukas family remain off public record, to protect my family from unjust implication." And all the bullshit they pull.

"I am glad you've brought up the Archivist, as he is the reason I'm here," he folds his hands, switching topics smoothly. "I felt it only right to discuss the matter with you before it became a problem, given your... attachment."

Could not be said with more thinly veiled distaste.

 

Ah, Isolation. Peter's the weird black sheep — the rest of them are probably furious that Elias and his Archivist are enjoying each other's company instead of resigning themselves to a life of loneliness. A fact that is as delightful as making Nathaniel wait.

But regardless, Elias doesn't smile. He steps carefully. All this began because they wanted to take Jon away from him, after all.

"And what matter would that be, then," he inquires, smooth and sharp.

 

The rest of them absolutely are, or at least as furious as these hollowed out husks can be. Nathaniel can get pretty irate it seems, there's fine lines of it around his mouth and eyes as he speaks, " _Interference_."

He pauses when Rosie knocks softly on the door, enters with tea she politely serves then heads out again. He takes his cup, eyes never leaving Elias. "You know our world is a balancing act, and it has always been a central consideration of our alliance to to help quell the upstarts and fanatics that try and break it. The Eye is a good partner, _Gertrude_ was a good Archivist who knew this duty well. My family understands your decision to eliminate her and support it, of course. I am not yet certain we support this new Archivist."

He sets the cup down without taking a drink. "You are not the only ones that watch. We've kept up with developments, watching it's development," the 'it' is clearly Jon, adding an insulting level of impersonal distance very brazenly meant to annoy Elias. Tosser. "It's dangerous, Bouchard. It sucks every being it can into its orbit, makes them unwilling figures in its grand story. Gertrude knew distance, this one does not. Nothing proved this to me more than Peter- _three_ statements, taken from him, and I know my brother well enough to read him. He wasn't simply compelled, he _wanted_ to give them, wanted to be understood, wants, perhaps, to be part of its tale. Peter, who despite his eccentric nature is likely one of the most devoted of my family, and after only one visit he's thoroughly entwined. I believe I can guess where he went when he made port and headed to London.

"Your Archivist did what your poorly concealed romance with Peter could not- and I do wonder if you haven't been drawn into its gravity as well." He gives Elias a long look. "It's growing too powerful, Bouchard. You may believe this is in your favour but you can glut yourself on power and choke on it. Something must be done."

 

Nathaniel speaks of Jon as an _it_ and Elias feels his anger flare, protective and human, probably exactly what Nathaniel wanted. He cuts it off at the knees. This is not a discussion where humanity is useful.

Fortunately Elias knows how to turn it off. Or at least, slip into information and a vaster self, the knowledge and experience of many other men. The pettiness of individual moments does not concern him, nor does the value of one individual life. It makes him cold as space itself.

"Our Archivist," he says, "Is the best we've had since we were Magnus himself. How old were you in 1965, when young Gertrude first took up the position? Do you remember how she tried to save Agnes Montague? We do. What about James Nash, so certain he could avert another global war by predicting the Piper's movements? They all interfere at first. It's only human."

He smiles beatifically, tone icy. "We can manage our own affairs, Lukas. You should look to your own — first the failure of the ritual, and now this business with your brother's ship." He tuts. "If we are becoming so powerful as you say, then I don't think you're really in any position to risk our alliance."

 

Ah there's that flare of irritation on Nathaniel's face, quickly stomped down but very much present for a moment too long. "Not you and yours, Bouchard, _it_. It is becoming powerful, and we all know that an Archivist is not quite so shackled to the Eye as you may hope."

He leans forward, "Your attachment to him is blinding you, ironic as it is. Marriage, Bouchard? Peter was convinced you love it, and that was one matter I know he did not lie about. Tell me, in your vault of memories, how many Heads _loved_?"

 

"Just one other," says Elias. "A love story really only has two endings."

He sits forward, sits up, spine straight, imperious. "Marriage is, we think, a very effective way to shackle an Archivist to _us and ours_. Jonathan will never betray us like Gertrude did." The tea is cooling in front of him; he remembers and sips it.

"Nathaniel," he says, tone not quite friendly, something a little paternal about it. "It would be better for everyone if you let this go. Leave our office, and let our Archivist continue to learn his duties. We only need one Lukas brother alive to sustain an alliance, and poor Peter seems so weak of late."

 

Elias you stone cold fucker. Nathaniel's eyes narrow a moment, expression frigid. "You're right, Bouchard. If I were the only brother left our alliance would fall solely in my hands, and Peter has proven far too unpredictable and inefficient as of late."

He places his cup on the desk, stands. "You know your Archivist best, of course. In the interest of our continued alliance I hope you'll forgive our keeping an eye on its' continued developments, as they are of interest to more than just your Institute. I ask you consider what I said besides, Bouchard, for your own sake if nothing else."

 

"Next time you come to lecture me, Nathaniel," says Elias, singular once more. "Make an advance appointment with my receptionist. I'm a busy man."

Bye, Nathaniel.

He calls Jon immediately, of course: "Where are you."

 

Nathaniel leaves without further fuss, thankfully, and Jon answers the phone quickly enough. He sounds confused when he answers. 

"On the road at the moment, though we'll be back at the Institute within the hour. What's wrong?" There's a shuffling, Peter's muffled voice. "I can get you the specific location if necessary. Everything looks the damn same out here and Peter can't drive at a reasonable speed to save his life." Definite chuckling in the background.

 

A car. An hour away. Peter at the wheel. Elias has never been so frustrated that Jon himself can't drive. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. I need you to make sure that if Peter gets any phonecalls, he doesn't answer them. Just take his phone and turn it off if you can. Can you put him on, please?"

 

"I- all right. I'll certainly try," Jon answers hesitantly, clearly wanting to say more but he seems to realize that might not be wise.

There's some muffled talking before Peter's on the call. "Trouble on the homefront, Elias?"

 

"Something like that," says Elias, and his tone is neither amused nor indulgent. "I need you here within the hour. It's urgent. If I don't see you and Jon by then, I will take drastic action. Are we clear?"

 

You can practically hear Peter's quirked brow. "Trouble indeed. Any reason the Archivist needs my phone, Elias?"

There's a pause, some talking, then Peter huffs a breath. "I'll get him back to you, Elias. Pinky swear."

 

"Good. Thank you," says Elias crisply, and hangs up on him. Jon and Peter can spend the rest of the trip talking about how weird he is, while Elias reorganizes his schedule with Rosie and makes a couple of actual phone calls to businesses he needs to and other small, distracting tasks. He's counting the seconds until Jon gets back, won't relax until he is.

 

In forty-five minutes Rosie buzzes in, telling him Jon and Peter are on their way. Unsurprisingly given they're both godless heathens they just walk in, Jon looking vaguely concerned and mostly curious, Peter tired and amused.

"Is everything all right? Well, of course it's not, you're being far too strange for 'all right,'" Jon says as he approaches. Peters drapes himself on one of the chairs like he owns the place.

 

"You can give him back his phone," says Elias, a lot calmer now that Jon is in the room with him, but still residually tense. "Nathaniel Lukas came to see me," is his explanation for both of them.

 

"Yeah, that explains it," Peter says, not all that surprised. Jon is though, and doesn't give back that phone yet because he's busy looking confused. "Nate's not the biggest fan of yours, Archivist."

" _Why_? I haven't done a damned thing to him," Jon complains, then pauses. "All right, besides the ritual. I hardly see why that's my fault, what did he expect?"

"Nah, he's been 'concerned' since before that. The ritual was partially an attempt to cut off a problem he saw brewing before it came to pass," Peter glances at Elias with a smirk. "Did he say he's just as concerned about you? Has been since Gertrude."

 

Elias' eyes narrow. "He did not." More importantly, the fact that Peter just knows this — he'd warned Elias obliquely, but this whole thing is an unpleasant surprise, and Elias hates being surprised. 

"You're off babysitting duty," he says, not particularly friendly. Peter has had plenty of opportunity to hurt Jon, sure, but Elias thinks if his brother gave him explicit instruction he would obey, and given Nathaniel's warning took no purchase, the likelihood of that instruction being given just increased.

 

Jon continues to look baffled by these developments while Peter just nods, clearly not all that surprised. "Fair enough. Such a shame, I was getting close to convincing the Archivist for an alleyway quickie."

"You were _not_ ," Jon shoots back, then frowns between them. "Can someone _please_ explain what is going on instead of all this dire, vague nonsense? Why is he 'concerned?' Elias and I have done nothing but try and stop the Unknowing."

 

"Nathaniel has strayed so far from humanity that he's forgotten how it works," Elias says bitingly, "That's what's happening." Except that's more dire, vague nonsense. Elias rubs a hand over his eyes. "He's convinced that you, Archivist, are an imbalance. That your diarizing and relationships and _involvement_ in your own story is an indication of a malicious amassing of power rather than the human idiocy of a new Archivist. 

"And while I'll grant him that you're ... unusually strong, and I am perhaps more lenient with you when it comes to interference with our subjects than I should be, the Lukases are our _allies_ and should consider our strengths to be their strengths." He's looking at Peter now. "Or else they may not be our allies much longer."

 

Peter continues to look distantly amused and completely unsurprised by all this. Jon, meanwhile, is still in confused idiot land. "What? How is being the punching bag of every damn monster I come across 'malicious amassing of power' or 'unusually strong?'" he asks incredulously. 

Peter is busy focusing on Elias, still with a faint smile. "You know you can't afford that, not now. Breaking alliance with us will be a red flag for every domain under the sun that you're ripe for attack and- ha- _isolated_. Just how are you going to dance your way out of this one, Elias?"

 

Elias looks at Peter for a long moment, and then shakes his head. "Out," he says, instead of answering. "Go report to your brother."

Mean. He waits until Peter's left his office to stand and approach Jon, cups his face with one hand.

"You influence people, Jon," Elias explains tiredly. "Maybe not on purpose, but you do. They hate you and they want to take actions. They love you and they want to tell you things. More than they should. What do you think compulsion even _is_ , darling? And then when that's not enough you feed the Eye pieces of yourself — ordinary conversations, every idle thought on your coworkers. You can turn the recorder on without touching it, for god's sake."

It's not like he doesn't know all this is dangerously powerful, he just doesn't care, because Beholding likes it, and because Elias finds the outcomes potentially interesting, and, of course, because he's in love.

 

Jon looks helplessly between them, like he wants to say something in Peter's defense but has nothing he could possibly offer. Peter lifts himself with a sigh, walking over to Jon who just stares at him with uncertainty and maybe a little concern. 

"Need my phone," Peter all but winks, slipping his hand into Jon's pocket and snatching it up before Jon could jump. He leaves without a goodbye, and Jon watches him go with a frown.

He eases when Elias comes over, listening and leaning into the touch. Of course something changes and he goes rigid inbetween, glancing up at Elias in alarm. "If that- I didn't... I didn't _compel_ you to feel this way, did I?" Oh boy.

 

"I have asked myself that a lot," Elias admits, meeting his eyes honestly. "But I don't think so. You have no power over me," okay, Labyrinth, sure, "And I've told you, I felt something for you long before you cared to influence me. No. No. But does it matter? I'm not the only one swayed by you and you alone. Peter's in love with you, I think, which doesn't help Nathaniel's ire."

 

Jon eases at that, thinking over the times his compulsion did nothing to Elias besides a shudder and husky tone. He still looks uncertain, and shakes his head. "Of _course_ it matters. Someone's love shouldn't be _compelled_ by some otherworldly force, there's no consent to that. Dear lord, it's horrifying on levels I don't care to delve into. How do I stop it? Surely there's a way to control it."

He hesitates at Peter's mention. "Damnit all, can't he wait until the Stranger is dealt with at least?"

 

"Distance," says Elias. "Control. Two things you are not particularly good at." But despite the fact that that's kind of insulting, he kisses Jon lightly. "It's all right. I'm not going to make you stop your work. I can bodyguard you myself." Runs his fingers through the hair over Jon's ear. "You haven't done anything wrong. You're just obeying your nature."

 

Shockingly Jon's pretty upset by this nonsense, thinking through everything he's done and how this may have affected it. Martin's crush? That certainly explained it, even if that did seem to be early on. Basira and Daisy getting dragged into things? Sasha thinking she needed to meet Michael that long time ago, or running around during the Prentiss attack, trying to save them?

Ah, overthinking. He rests his head against Elias' shoulder. "I loathe this," he mutters, staying there a moment before pulling back and trying to focus again. "I think I have a lead on Mary Keay, or at least on Pinhole Books. Surprisingly hard place to find, it turns out. I'm heading there tomorrow, and hopefully we'll be done with this then."

 

Elias keeps a straight face. "Time to relisten to 0132806, I think, before you go. I won't be able to come with you, so take Martin or somebody — at least to the outside of the shop. The Keays are selective about who they see, but they also won't hold truck with mannequins, so you'll be safe once you find the place. From the Stranger, anyway."

 

"I already have it pulled up, along with 0080307." Jon is at least thorough. That includes questions, because he seems curious. "Why can't you come? They don't care for you I take it?"

And he sighs. "I'll see who's in tomorrow, and who won't mind the ride. I'm not sure if it will be safer keeping them outside or bringing them in."

 

"I suggest Martin mostly because his place in Stockwell is halfway there; you can let him have a sleep in, god knows the man looks like he needs it." That's the only nice thing Elias ever has done or will do for Martin. Also, he thinks Martin's the assistant most likely to sacrifice himself to save Jon, so he's the best choice of babysitter, obviously. But given the earlier subject matter... he doesn't share that.

"Are you ready to go?" Elias says, gently setting him back upright so he can go and pack his briefcase — it is nearing the end of the day, after all, and he already cleared his whole afternoon.

(Also check out that total lack of answer, heyooo.)

 

"You didn't answer about the Keays," Jon points out stubbornly, though he knows a losing battle when he sees one. "I... suppose. Maybe I should keep a distance from Martin, if this- this _compulsion_ has anything to do with his infatuation." Part of him did want to maybe try speaking to Martin to see how he was, but obviously it's better to just keep avoiding that and be vague and unhelpful. 

"Yes, let's," he agrees, more than happy to get the fuck out of Dodge.

 

"I'm sure you'll get to hear all about what the Keays think of me," Elias says mildly, clicking his case closed. "And please, don't be ridiculous. Nathaniel Lukas doesn't understand how much of you is still human. You aren't forcing people to have strong feelings about you, Jon, it's not coercion, that's just who you are."

 

"I suppose you're right there." Jon sticks to Elias' side as they head out, nodding to Rosie's farewells and waiting until they were through the crowd and near the entrance before speaking again.

"Elias, the only strong feelings people ever had about me before this weren't good ones," he says dryly. "Hell, even my grandmother struggled sometimes." And he sighs. "I'll... take your word for it. And I'm... concerned about Peter in this. Do you really think Nathaniel will actively pit him against us?"

 

"I don't know," says Elias, something in the undercurrent of his tone like ground glass. He still cares for Peter so much. "I think he's worried about Peter's loyalty, and your — our influence. I think Peter would still do whatever his brother asks of him." And probably Elias threatening to kill Peter if Nathaniel didn't back down didn't help the dynamic. "I trusted Peter Lukas once, and I won't make that mistake again."

 

Jon frowns, reaching over to take Elias' hand. Ah, the stormy history that was Elias and Peter.

"So what does this mean? We cut him out of our lives?" He didn't really like that idea but it seemed like there wasn't much else to be done, not if Nathaniel Lukas was plotting. "And what does Nathaniel Lukas hope to accomplish? It's not as though I can stop doing my damn job just to appease him, unless he'd like the world to be unravelled by flesh wearing puppets."

 

Elias' lips thin, squeezing Jon's hand. "I simply won't put your life in his hands while this is a potential problem. But it's not as though he ever asks before showing up at my flat."

 

Jon sighs, glances around to make sure they're alone and then pulls Elias' hand up to kiss it. "This is quite the mess," he murmurs, and worries about Elias' scars being prodded with all this. Never a dull moment. "But when is it not these days? We'll... figure it out." His attempts at optimism always come up flat, but he's trying.

"Now, can you please explain to me why I have to wait for the Keays to explain why you can't come along?" You thought he'd drop that shit? Foolish.

 

"No," says Elias — stone cold, but he's still got some residual Work Mode, even with Jon sweetly kissing his hand like that. "No, Nathaniel's right about one thing: I interfere with you far more than I should." And because he knows that can be a tension point between them, he squeezes Jon's hand. (It's a nice afternoon, they're walking home because I say they are.) "Evening off from work discussion? Unless Peter shows up." He'll use their argument safeword if he has to. "We can pick up some fish and chips and walk along the Thames? I think it might finally be summer."

 

Jon is not a fan of Nathaniel right now, fucking snitch. Still, at least this wasn't something he wouldn't find out soon enough. He hoped when he did Elias would give him his side of the story instead of this usual nonsense (in his mind) run around.

The walk home bit is nice, good choice, though Jon has a bit of residual nerves being out in the open, even if Elias was there. He glances over his shoulder a couple of times, settles eventually despite himself. "All right, all right. No prying, no monsters," he agrees, wonders if Peter would show, wonders if he wants that or not (he does, because he's worried.) "Yes, that sounds suitably lovely. I still owe you a date, if I remember correctly."

Which isn't today, obviously, because this is an actual good date idea instead of whatever bullshit Jon would come up with. He's good at least as they walk, mind on work because when was it not, but no questions for Elias to avoid. When they get their fish and chips he finds a bench to settle on, regards Elias a moment. "Tell me something I don't know about you," he asks, lips quirking slightly. It Begins.

 

"That's getting quite difficult, you know," Elias admits, unwrapping the newspaper and picking at the chips like he's one of the gulls that pester tourists. He's pressed up against Jon's side, knee to shoulder, PDA without the embarrassment of PDA.

He hums, breaks his battered fish in two. "You really have got your greedy little Archivist fingers into all my most secret places, you know." And he doesn't even mean that as a double entendre. "I met Margaret Thatcher once, in my final year of high school. I got top marks in my G&P A-level and won some sort of award — or my school did. She shook my hand. Awful woman." He grins, eats his dinner.

 

"You know I'll keep asking until there's no more answers," Jon answers simply, picking at the fish like he wants to eat it without getting greasy fingers. Good luck, idiot. "If I need to accept becoming a monster I might as well enjoy parts of it. Having an excuse for nosiness is quite nice."

He nearly laughs at that, swallowing his fish and wiping his hands on a napkin. "Lord, I'm not sure many people would call that a prize," fuck Margaret Thatcher basically. "What were you like in highschool? Not a hopeless stoner yet, it sounds."

 

"Early years I was — teachers wrote _shy_ but I suppose I was still fairly traumatized from being lost in the Spiral so young." Something they still haven't fully talked about, but there's a tape somewhere, maybe he'll give it to Jon. Anyway, he continues before Jon can get hung up on that. "Played some sports. Got in trouble for being quite violent on the field. 

"Once I hit puberty I discovered how to be more charming — mostly by copying Genevieve, who was a natural." He smiles softly to himself. "My parents sent me to an Oxford prep in London at sixteen, and I knew I'd have to do well to get into the university as they wanted me to, so those years were mostly buckling down and working until my teeth hurt. I was incredibly brilliant and incredibly stressed, if you'll pardon the lack of modesty, so I also did some stupid shit with my friends after hours — it was an all boys' private boarding school so I'm sure you can imagine. I received more than my fair share of canings."

 

Jon does almost get hung up on that, and only doesn't poke at it because they agreed no work discussion. The Spiral was certainly too close, personal experiences or not. 

"I'm not sure I can imagine, or want to," Jon answers dryly, though he's clearly taken with more pieces of the Elias Bouchard puzzle put into place - shy, traumatized sports kid to charming, probably ridiculous teenager, eventually to stoner then this. "What really led you to the Institute then? I know you said you did poorly in Oxford, but there are plenty of places one can end up after such a thing that are the Institute." Was this talking about work? Hm. He's going to say no and hope Elias agrees.

 

"I got the worst possible mark one can graduate with in the most useless possible degree, Jon, I promise you that my other options were all equally miserable." He eats some more chips, and then gives a better answer. "Look. I wouldn't say I was _actively_ suicidal, but I think I knew I couldn't go on the way I was, running from something that had terrified me as a child. I was drawn to the Magnus Institute because I wanted to know what had happened to me, and because I felt like I had nowhere else, particularly, to go. The same things that draw everybody we hire."

 

Jon almost says 'besides Sasha' but decides against it, nodding along. "You reached something of a breaking point with yourself and ended up at the Institute's doorstep. Yes, that does sound like a common story for our lot." Funny how the other domains so often shoved people right into the Eye's grasp.

"I suppose most people aren't literal when they need to fight their demons," he muses, picking up a chip and turning it over in his fingers as if it deserved examination. "But we're getting dangerously close to work again, and I _can_ speak of other things, on occasion." Sure.

 

"Can you," Elias says, mock-surprised, what a shithead. He's grinning, offers Jon a chip. "News to me. Feel like proving it?"

 

Jon makes a point of rolling his eyes, taking the chip between his teeth because- well. He wasn't expecting to be called out. He could, okay, just-

He chews, swallows. Gives Elias a stony, dry look. "So, about the big sports game," he says in complete seriousness.

 

"Ah yes, the T20 match?" says Elias, who is totally not cheating, his eyes alight with amusement. "What about it?"

 

Jon gives him an unimpressed look. "You're _cheating_ , there is no feasible way you watch- I don't even _know_ what that is. Car racing?"

You smug prick.

 

"Cricket, darling," Elias informs him, leans his head on Jon's shoulder, somehow happier at this than he would be actually be having a normal conversation about sports. "It's cricket season."

 

"Oh, then maybe you do watch it. That sounds like something the posh sort watch," Jon admits, grumpy even if he's brushing the hair at Elias' temple. "Whatever the case this _is_ technically a conversation, and it isn't about work. I count it a victory." Amazing.

 

"We really need a hobby," says Elias, amused, then pauses and chuckles, low enough it's just a vibration through both of them. "One that's appropriate to discuss in public, anyway."

 

Jon's lips quirk despite himself. "We could start going to trivia nights at bars and be truly unfair," he offers, glancing around once more, partially out of paranoia but mostly to make sure when he pressed a kiss to Elias' temple it wouldn't be witnessed. "As long as our hobby isn't _actually_ watching sports. How dreadful."

 

"God, no," says Elias, pulling a face, but not a very convincing one when Jon was being quietly sweet at him. "Just because I _know_ sport exists doesn't mean I want to _watch_ it."

 

"I knew you occasionally had good taste," Jon says, dry and amused. "Come on, let's go home. I'd rather be able to sit with you without watching my back," he says, lips still near Elias' temple. He gets up, taking Elias' hands as if to tug him up.

"You know what I should try teaching you? Baking. Now _that_ would be amusing to witness."

 

"You know I'd never let anything happen to you," Elias says, but he stands again, brushes errant crumbs of salt off his suit pants, straightens his jacket, still holding Jon's hand. Then they set off home.

"I don't have time for baking," he informs Jon with a sardonic look. "No, I'll tell you what: I'll teach you how to play bridge. I'm sure there's a Chelsea club we could join."

 

"I know," Jon says softly, and pushes the idea of them both being ambushed by puppets far, far down. It was much better to focus on that, to very pointedly roll his eyes.

"Bridge, _really_? What are we, eighty and in a retirement community?" Says the man raised by an old woman. "Also, no offense Elias, but you are the last person I'd want to play a card game against. You're literally bound to a being that can see through whatever eyes it wishes." Despite this he glances over. "But I suppose if you're fond of it it's worth learning the basics of."

 

"It's a partnered game," Elias says. "So we'd be playing against other pairs." And winning. Obviously. Not that Elias would ever, ever cheat.

Still. He's sort of piqued that Jon could list a bunch of reasons something was a bad idea and then agree to it anyway. "It's fine. I'd much rather do the crossword at home with you than go make smalltalk with rich idiots over cards." They have a hobby, it's being stupidly fucking gay for each other. 

Case in point, they cross the bridge in the park where Elias kissed him in the rain, and Elias lifts their joined hands and kisses the back of Jon's hand like a quick little commemoration, without stopping their walk or saying anything about it.

 

Ugh goddamnit, Jon ducks his head and smiles when he knows exactly where they are and what it means, and he's disgustingly happy. It scares the shit out of him, because he felt the damn same right before he was kidnapped and everything went to shit, but he pushes Nikola and her lot back into his head. They had his nightmares, he wouldn't give them this, not today at least.

"Well, partnered is more appealing, but I'll admit I think I'll always prefer crosswords." Jesus Christmas. "Though if you ever need to show up some rich pair in a subtle setting I could be convinced to learn bridge properly." Because they'd cheat, he's saying. They'll cheat. They're them.

Jon kisses Elias in the lift, tastes like salt and faintly smoke, even though he was trying to quit. Again. Elias would, of course, probably realize Peter had come up to flat shortly before they did, was sitting rather comfortably in Elias' study and playing games on his phone.

 

Elias takes his time, kisses Jon a little more even after they've left the lift, hands against his chest, and then his abdomen, and he's aware Peter is here but he doesn't care, wants Jon to be nothing but happy for just a few moments longer.

Then he breaks back, closes his eyes, exhales like a sigh. Practically visibly steeling himself. "We have a guest," he explains drily, goes to fix them both a drink. "Our favourite." This sounds like sarcasm but is sadly probably true. He hands Jon his drink, takes the other with him into the study — he doesn't explicitly close the door in Jon's face but there's a pretty clear air that he's going to try and handle this alone. Looks at Peter in his chair, playing fucking Candy Crush, and stands like he's perfectly content standing. "Hello again, Peter. Is this business or pleasure?"

 

It takes Jon a moment, and when he realizes he seems torn on how to feel about it. He follows, takes his drink, frowns at the fact Elias clearly wants to do this alone but accepts it with a sigh. He brushes a hand over Elias' back before taking a seat on the couch, intent on at least trying not to eavesdrop. Elias couldn't yell at him for pulling up his bag and pouring over some work for a while to distract.

Peter holds up a finger, because he's a jackass, then gets some sweet combos. He smirks to himself as the screen cheerfully informs him of his candy destruction superiority. "See, the funny thing about that question is whether you'd believe me either way. I mean, it would make sense to assume I have some underhanded orders if I say pleasure, or I could say business and just be yankin' your chain. The real question is which do you _want_ it to be?"

He glances up, grins. "Right deep, isn't it? Saw that one on one of those daytime psychiatry shows- real damned entertaining in a junk food kind of way."

 

Elias rolls his eyes so hard it's surprising he doesn't somehow sprain them. "Yes, thank you Peter, I'm of course in awe of your cleverness and complexity." Though it's sort of weirdly comforting — Peter trying to rile him probably means some vestigial part of him is upset, and if he's upset then he's probably not wholly Nathaniel's man.

But then again, Elias understands a lot better now, how much Peter can care about someone and still hurt them. The nihilistic masochism of it. Elias takes a long drink of his drink, the liquid smoke of it hurting his chest a little.

"It's not that I think you're a liar," he explains. "I just know where your loyalties lie, that's all." And that wasn't a problem — when Isolation was their ally.

 

Peter regards him, lips quirking then settling to a faint line. "Where do they lie, Elias? I'm curious to hear if you're as right as you think you are." He gives Elias a winning grin in return, "You usually are, even if you miss a detail or a nuance on occasion. I notice that only happens when the results of being wrong are... mm, catastrophic."

He turns back to his phone, tapping away. "Thank god you have someone as clever and complex as me around, yeah?"

 

Elias reins in his impatience with Peter's eternal malicious glee. "With your family," says Elias, corrects himself: "With your brother. Even if he can be a, hm, what was the phrasing you used once — a _real cunt_ when he's angry." Nice.

He comes around the desk, perches on the edge next to Peter. "Now. You still haven't answered my question. Why are you here. Don't make me bring the Archivist in to ask you; I received the impression Nathaniel isn't happy with how many statements you've been giving us."

 

Peter chuckles, yeah he said that more than once. "No, he's not pleased. Hey, I told you to keep him away from Nathaniel- didn't think Nathaniel would come right to your doorstep."

He leans back, holds out his phone for Elias to take. "You can check it, if you want, no nefarious orders. You can take it too, if that makes you feel better, hold it captive while I'm around." He closes his eyes and puts his feet up on Elias' desk, the fuck. "I'm here because Nathaniel's right, I can't stay away. Not unless you tell me to."

 

Elias takes his phone and taps at it. He doesn't check Peter's messages though, just deletes Candy Crush because he, too, can be a petty piece of shit. Deleting this app will delete all of its data, the phone says, and Elias' mouth quirks, pleased. "I hope you at least realize that that's not because of some eldritch Archivist power," he says, tossing the phone onto his desk next to Peter's shoes. Swirls his drink contemplatively. This is all so _complicated_. Or nuanced, perhaps, is the better word. Equally annoying, to a man who prefers to take in the proverbial forest over any individual tree.

 

Peter will be so deeply upset by this loss, alone in the world without his mobile game. Feed Isolation more, why don't you. He doesn't notice yet, so there's that. He rolls his eyes. "Here's what I know- Nate's not wrong, the Archivist is strong. He probably will be a force to be reckoned with to the level Nathaniel imagines one day, and what you do with that power could mess up quite a lot. That is assuming you manage to keep him that long, which as far as I can tell is half of why Nathaniel targeted him with the ritual."

His shoes are still on the desk. Fucker. "I also know I haven't been dragged her by some hypnotic Eye powers. I knew he had a gravity when I met him, and I still approached. Still came back. That's what you want to hear? Nate's never been good at seeing the grey between the black and white- comes with being a husk rather than a person, yeah?" His lips quirk, bright and humourous. "He told me to stay away from you when we first met. He thought you were a bad influence even back then."

 

" _Me_ ," Elias echoes in disbelief, and then laughs outright. "I'm not the one of us that's a bad influence."

Except when it comes from seducing members of the Isolation family away into relationships with Beholding, Elias. But at least that's cracked some of his ice. Nothing Peter (or Nathaniel) says about Jon is particularly surprising, but the admittance that there's free will at play is important to Jon, and therefore yes, it's what Elias wants to hear.

"Come on," he says, "We're killing poor Jonathan with curiosity in here." Which is a tacit invitation to stay. He stands up again, heading back out to the lounge.

 

"Not according to some," Peter says, and almost seems surprised when Elias caves. Well, maybe caves wasn't the right word, more like deliberated and come to this conclusion. Peter laughs softly to himself, stands and follows.

Jon glances up from some files when they come in, brow raised as his eyes dart between them. "Is everything all right then?"

"Yes Archivist, Elias has deigned to allow me in your company," Peter says cheekily, and Jon frowns, starting to stand.

"Listen Peter, if I've unintentionally-" Jon starts, practically squawking when Peter just flat out pinches his side.

"Please, Nathaniel's a drama queen and I assure you I'm not lured in by your siren spell. The sex, sure, but nothing overtly magical about that," Peter informs him, smirking when Jon smacks him with the file he had been reading.

"Don't _pinch_ , what are you, twelve? And- well, thank you. I think." He looks to Elias, as if making sure he really was all right. Then, indignantly, "He _pinched_ me." Tattle tale.

 

The look he gives Jon back is fond reassurance. "Don't pinch, Peter," Elias says, almost schoolmarmish except he's visibly amused. Let's not discuss how often he looked in on them while they were out having adventures together, called it precaution but mostly just hoped to catch them bickering.

To that end, he puts his drink down and peels out of his jacket and shoes so he can just take a seat in the corner of the couch and watch them like they're an interesting television programme. Which, you know, automatically placing himself as apart from this little scene is really very Isolation of him; maybe he and Peter can swap.

 

Their adventures were probably 100% this. It's probably clear at least Jon's more comfortable with Peter now since said adventures, doesn't watch him with the same caution and vague dislike. He's still careful, and still grows sour when Peter pokes at Elias' sore spots, but it's a marked improvement.

"All right, no pinching," Peter says solemnly, then proceeds to smack Jon in the ass Hooter's waitressly. Jon goes red and glowers, ruining Elias' plans to place himself apart by heading over and practically plopping into Elias' lap, curling his legs over Elias'. Just let Elias domain swap, Jon.

Peter laughs and goes to make himself a drink, and he certainly looks better in the past few days- filling back out, energy returning, scabs now little scars up his arm. He takes a seat and he and Jon talk a little about Jon's plans, full of bickering but generally peaceful enough. Peter almost, _almost_ , seems disappointed he's been cut out. Someone may have been having a good time.

"And Elias won't tell my why the Keays dislike him," Jon explains, always ready to be indignant about that shit. "I swear there's soap opera levels of drama between you all I've barely scratched the surface of."

"Oh, you have no idea," Peter raises his glass in mock toast to that. "I do love it when people loathe Elias though, he tries so hard to be diplomatic, don't you?"

 

Elias gets a lapful of fiancé, like Jon can sense him setting himself apart and refuses it. Or maybe like a man who brought Elias home so they wouldn't be kissing in public. Either way, Elias hooks an arm around his waist and allows it.

"I notice," he murmurs as Peter goes to get his drink, though not low enough to be inaudible, "That you don't have the same objections so being spanked." As he did to being pinched, that is. Jonathan's flushed quiet whenever Elias does it meant it was already on his list of things that might be worth exploring together.

Anyway, they talk for a little while, Elias mostly listening, watching Peter with his chin on Jon's shoulder. It's comfortable. He likes it, the three of them.

"Not when it comes to meddling hedge-witch miscreants who won't pick a side," Elias mutters lazily, so maybe there's some bad blood in both directions here. "They burn books. There are many sins I'll forgive, but not that one."

Murder: fine. Destroying objects of interesting power just because they might be dangerous? Deeply morally objectionable.

 

Jon flushes and squirms closer, resting against Elias' chest. "Maybe," he admits, look at him admitting things. "Given what deviants you two are I'm learning quite a lot."

Peter laughs at Elias' lazy mutter and even Jon looks amused, pressing a small kiss to Elias' neck despite the company. Maybe to annoy the company, who knows. " _Hedge-witches_." Peter is so amused. "Never met anyone like Mary before, I'll say that. Hopefully I never will again, she's more trouble than she's worth."

"I always wanted to meet Gerard," Jon admits, his weird fondness for Gerard surfacing despite the Keay bashing party going on. "I suppose I will tomorrow- I wonder if he'd be adverse to giving a statement."

 

Elias laughs suddenly at that, very fond. "You're a menace," he informs Jon, but he sounds delighted by it, even if he's hiding his face in Jon's neck to laugh a little more. God. No wonder Nathaniel is worried. Gertrude barely recorded anything towards the end, only what she'd orchestrated and sanitized; certainly not much of her traveling companion. Jon is like a fucking bloodhound.

He shares an amused look with Peter, knows he's being obtuse. "Just, ask in your human voice first, darling." He lolls on Jon's shoulder happily, stupidly in love. Like Jon doing his job well was a rare and special treat for him, Elias. "But this is a promising development," he adds, because I will steal directly from canon if I want to. Doesn't explain what he means though, wondering if Jon can figure out for himself what he just did.

 

Peter laughs as well and Jon frowns, glancing between them. "What? What do you mean development?" he asks, a hint of petulance at a shared joke he apparently wasn't in on. When Peter makes an exaggerated lip zipping motion Jon frowns and tries to figure it out, brow furrowed until-

"I- I mean it's just a guess, that Gerard is-" But he knows it's not a guess, he simply knows Gerard is more likely to be there than Mary, even though every bit of information told him Gerard Keay was dead. 

Peter swirls his drink, smirking. "You've been talking like that since yesterday, Archivist, and I didn't say a thing for or against it. 'Been waiting for Elias to notice, I knew he'd be delighted."

"What?" Jon is so confused.

 

Elias _is_ delighted, and therefore not even cross about Peter knowing first and being smug about it. "It's all right, Jon," he says, taking his hand and squeezing it. "It's a good thing. You're going to be hell to keep secrets from though," he admits, a little ruefully — for instance the fact that their honeymoon is to some isolated little cabin in New Zealand, where it will be winter and therefore cold. Sorry.

 

"How did I _do_ it? Damnit Elias, why didn't you tell me about this?" Jon complains, which looks ridiculous given he's cuddled up in Elias' lap and looking extremely comfortable doing so. He hasn't magically learned the trip yet, but give him time. He probably at least knows it's somewhere cold.

"Hey Archivist, can you tell what I'm thinking?" Peter decides to interject with the lewdest smile he can muster. 

Jon does not look impressed. "It's not _mind reading_ , and I wouldn't need magic to know what your unfortunate and one track mind tends to focus on."

 

Elias chuckles at that: "He does have a point, Peter." Because even Elias knows what Peter is thinking about right now. 

Anyway. He plays with Jon's fingers a little. "How do any of us do any of this," he says dryly, apparently unconcerned with the scientific explanation despite his domain. "It's good, though." His little butterfly. "It will help you make the connections you need to." 

And ruin all of Elias' secrets. Tragic.

He looks across at Peter again, there on the couch with them. Holds out a hand like an invitation to come closer. "By the way," he says. "I hope you own a nice suit, or can get one on short notice."

 

Jon isn't happy with this lack of explanation but he accepts it with a defeated sigh. All these new _abilities_ concerned him, gave a sharp jab of dread over what he might be becoming. It was easier to swallow here though, flanked by monsters, Elias' delight palpable. He trusts Elias, gave in to that trust with the knowledge it could utterly destroy him in the end, but at least now it means he can easily accept that maybe this development really was a good one.

"I'm sure you know exactly how and are just stubbornly not answering," Jon huffs, then watches as Peter shifts to join them. Peter hooks an arm around Elias' shoulders, thumb grazing the greying hair at Jon's temple. "You're going to be our witness," he explains, and when Peter's brow raises he nearly rolls his eyes. "For the wedding. Who else would we pick?"

Peter laughs at that, the motion shaking them both. "So you're inviting an acolyte of loneliness itself to your wedding. Will there be an open bar? Also what do I get out of it? I know Elias won't let me crash the wedding night, being the hopeless romantic he is."

 

Elias slides an arm around Peter's waist, deeply content. He doesn't smile, though it's there in his eyes, still on Peter.

"No bar," he says, not sure Peter entirely understands what he's being invited to, hopeless romantic that Elias is. "No wedding." No other guests, dumbass. "We're just going to the Town Hall to sign the documents." Also he has absolutely considered bringing Peter with them on the honeymoon, even though that seems very, um, non-traditional. "I'd like you to be there. That's all." He's not even negotiating, seems fairly certain that behind all of his sleazy, joking nonsense Peter will want to come.

 

And after a moment Peter does get it, eyes widening just a touch before he ducks his head with an amused breath. "Holy hell, you two," he murmurs, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. I swear if the vows get too soppy I'll throw us all down a ravine."

Jon rolls his eyes but he's smiling, and when Peter notices he has to glance away. The look in Elias' eyes was one he already was avoiding. "Thank you, Peter, so nice of you to put aside your unhealthy emotional lifestyle to do this for us."

"I still want something in return," he insists, because being a flirty shit is how he deflects Real Emotion. He leans in, nipping sharply just below Elias' jaw, the kind of mark you can't hide. "What oh what could you do for me in return?"

"You act as though we couldn't be convinced into some depraved sexual act without leverage," Jon is just eye roll city right now, though he's rather enjoying the view. "The soul of romance, you are."

 

Elias' eyes close and he makes a sound at the bite, just a noise along the edge of a breath. Allows it to happen, chin tipping, seemingly complacent beneath and between the both of them — but his hand slides up, over the pleasing muscle of Peter's back and shoulders, over his neck—

"Normally when people give you a gift it's impolite to ask for something else," Elias scolds lightly, and his hand fists in Peter's hair like a trap snapping shut, holds him there to be kissed, slow and affectionate — no, adoring. _Romantic_. "But," he murmurs there, smiles because he knows emotions make Peter uncomfortable. "I'm feeling very generous. And I do already owe you a favour. So you can have the reins tonight, if you'd like to keep pretending you're only here for the sex."

 

Jon watches with a bemused sort of interest, warmth shuddering through him at Elias' sounds, the complacency then the way he steadfastly turns the situation to suit him. It's certainly fascinating to watch from the side, along with the way Peter's breath hitches just so before he covers it with huff of breath. He kisses back, far sharper than Elias, and when they're through the look he gives Elias is that unreadable on Jon's dying to crack.

Peter licks his bottom lip, struggles with himself in a way even Jon can tell, before his composure returns in ounces. "You really want to do that Elias? You know I don't play gentle or fair, and we all have big days ahead, don't we?" He runs his nails down the back of Elias' neck, a painful edge but dangerously fond. "Give me the boundaries now, if we're playing."

 

Elias swallows, glances at Jon, who hasn't really seen the way he and Peter are together. The brutality he's capable of weathering. But Jon's pupils are blown huge, and he just looks fascinated. Beautiful, hungry monster — Elias kisses him too before he answers, just as gently, smiling when it breaks. 

A moment of eye contact and then he turns back to Peter, settled. "Safeword's stop. I'd prefer not to attend my own wedding with visible injuries," he says. "But I really doubt there's much you could do to me that I couldn't handle." A slight challenge in the tip of his chin — he's just, he's always like this. But then, he continues to survive the onslaught that is Peter Lukas, so maybe he's not wrong. "Oh," he adds, "And don't make a mess of my nice furniture or you're paying for the reupholstery."

He considers saying something about Jon, given he's the one of them who does actually have a big day in the morning, but decides Jon can set his own limits with regards to what he's willing to witness, how far he's willing to go.

 

Peter smirks at the challenge like it's an endearing quirk, the look of a man ready to test the boundaries of what a 'visible injury is. He glances to Jon, who is still watching between them like he's momentarily forgotten he was being asked as well.

When Jon catches the look he glances away, embarrassed, before steeling himself and looking back. "I'm not the one who owes you a favour," he says, almost stuffily. "So I'm not going to just set limits, I want to negotiate."

"Oh?" Peter's clearly trying not to laugh, something that has Jon kicking at him in retribution. Peter just grabs his ankle, smirks. "Then negotiate, Archivist? What do _you_ want?"

Jon tries to tug his foot free, fails and huffs. "I want... I want to see you and Elias, together. I don't want you to focus on me at all, only him." His gaze turns to Elias, as if asking permission. "But I have no interest in being in the sidelines either, not this time at least. So whatever you do to him I'll be there."

Peter gives up and laughs, finally releasing Jon's ankle. "You two make me sick, I love it."

 

Elias looks startled by Jon negotiating, but when Jon looks at him he gives a reassuring smile. He's not entirely sure what that's going to look like, but he's doing his best to give up control here, both to Jon as well as Peter, so he doesn't try to change Jon's terms.

"All right," he says, fingers moving lazily in Peter's hair, petting him a little. "I do have another addition to my limits, then. I don't want you to restrict me from touching Jon." They really are just disgusting.

 

Peter rolls his eyes with the strength of a thousand men. "Nevermind, it's the normal type of sick and I hate it."

Jon ignores him, smiling at Elias and leaning over to kiss him soundly. This is broken when Peter stands, pulling Elias with him by the front of the expensive shirt. 

"Enough of that, up you go," Peter plops down again though, lounging next to Jon who gives him a dirty look for breaking off his sappy kiss. "Strip. Come on Elias, we don't have all night. Some of us have places to be in the morning."

 

Peter just hauls him out of the kiss, and oh, this is happening now, all right then. "What, no music?" he asks mockingly as Peter sits back down. He considers refusing just to see what happens, which is his usual M. O. when it comes to being given orders, but he's — trying something new, trying to be well-behaved, and not just because compliance was what Peter wanted in repayment for his favour. 

Elias has no shame, but it's still a little strange, to take his clothes off in front of them in his living room, like a performance. He doesn't ham it up at all, though, just unbuttons his shirt briskly, lays it neatly over the arm of one of the single-seater chairs. His trousers join it, after he's taken a couple of things out of his pockets and put them on the coffee table. He's less careful with his undergarments, the singlet and briefs and socks just balled in the seat of the chair. All in all it's not much different from how he'd undress for a shower, except then he has to just stand there, arms folded.

 

Peter just smirks and watches, arm slung over the back of the couch like he's at a strip club here. The fact Elias folds his arms has his grin sharpening, like a shark scenting blood, like maybe the gesture signaled defensive discomfort and hiding rather than simple defiance. "How nice, this is usually so much more difficult with you. Elias loves to make me work for it, Archivist, thinks he can be in control wherever he damn well pleases. Even here you're calculating, aren't you?" He gestures down. "Knees, then come over."

"He's lovely," Jon answers in turn, finds it easier to let that sort of softness slip in the face of Peter's careless force. He was never sadistic, not the way Peter and Elias were, doesn't have that razor sharp edge ready for blood at a moment's notice. Of course he understands enjoying the treatment, enjoys seeing Elias grimace in satisfaction at the bruises Peter gives him or Peter's sharp interest whenever Elias cuts deep with a remark.

Dangerous idiots, he thinks to himself, _my_ dangerous idiots. Such a damn strange thought, especially with Peter, but here they were. "Besides," Jon continues, tearing his gaze away to glance at Peter, "you had to do quite a bit to gain this much control. I'd say calculations were already made and won."

Peter chuckles, "We'll see about that."

 

Elias realizes far, far too late how absolutely screwed he is for agreeing to this. He doesn't let it show on his face, of course, because god forbid he let Peter sense genuine weakness, but something about them commentating him, discussing him like he isn't there— well, he can see why Jon likes it. Having Jon here for this, as a part of this, is going to ruin him.

"He's right," he says anyway, sinking elegantly to his knees. "You made it clear how you wanted that debt repaid, so here it is." It's Elias crawling, still proud and graceful as a cat, over to kneel again in front of Peter. He sits back with his hands on his slightly parted knees, palms up, spine straight, lashes demurely low despite his smile. "I trust you're still capable of giving me your best even without the incentive of a struggle, Peter." Such a prick. He definitely always thinks he's in control.

 

Peter answers that with a smile as he grabs a fistful of Elias' hair, tugs hard to crane Elias' head back. "Oh, I promise the struggle isn't my incentive, it's the end result."

He lets go with a playful jostle, glances to Jon. "I won't focus on you but you never said Elias couldn't," he points out. "Elias, go make your mouth useful, hm? You have plenty of practice on the Archivist, I'm sure."

"Saving him for later?" Jon asks, amused and a little flushed. When he reaches for his belt Peter grabs his wrist.

"Let Elias," he demands, all sharp smiles. "I just want to show you just how much he can take firsthand. Have you ever had him choke on your cock before?"

"Ah, no-" Jon admits, then with a touch of embarrassment, "I'm not sure he has a gag reflex."

Peter laughs, "Well, let's test it and find out, hm?" Like he doesn't already know, prick.

 

Elias kneewalks so he's in front of Jon instead, leans a forearm on his thigh, looking up at him for a moment. It's a suspiciously easy start, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth when this is — up there, as a personal favourite.

He undoes Jon's belt and button and zip slowly, a little reverent. Nudges him through the boxers and then draws everything down — a soft "Up," to get Jon to lift his hips and he bunches everything down around his thighs. But since he's being good, that's it for using his hands; he squeezes Jon's knee once affectionately, and leans in.

It's not like Peter's wrong, about him having practice here — it was practically the first thing they did together. The new element is being watched while he does it, having it be something other than a private moment between the both of them. Still, he closes his eyes and ignores it, takes the head between his lips and slides his mouth down, making a soft noise in his chest as he stretches his jaw for the familiar feeling of Jon heavy on his tongue. Sucks sloppily, bracing himself to be made to take more.

 

It's strange with Peter watching but Jon tries to ignore the creeping feeling up his neck, reaches to trace the tension of Elias' jaw. "Peter told me in lurid detail about your adventure in your office," he says dryly, fondness slipping between the cracks as Elias' mouth works at him. He bites his lip moment, stifling a groan before he can continue. "Rather unprofessional given how often you tell me we must keep our work and home lives separate."

"I imagine Elias here is a lot more frightened of being caught looking at you with adoration than he is being caught with a cock in his mouth," Peter provides, slipping off the couch. For a moment it's unclear where he's going before he kneels at Elias' side, one hand grasping Elias' hair hard. "Hands behind your back and keep them there."

His other hand goes to Elias' cock, grip tight, leaving only a moment to roughly spread Elias' knees further apart before returning. Elias isn't wrong about being made to take more because Peter then pushes his head forward then back, leaning over to bite at Elias' ear before saying into it. "Think you can make him come first? I'm sure you have a lot of practice with him, but I've had a lot of practice with you."

 

Sometimes he forgets that Peter knows him — really knows him, the way very few people ever have. Knows the way Elias hides what he loves because he's afraid of losing it. He's not wrong, that Elias' professionalism is armour against caring, not humiliation.

He puts his hands behind his back. He keeps them there.

Peter is rough with him anyway, which he appreciates. A race, though... Elias makes a muffled noise that has nothing to do with the way Peter's hand feels around his cock, or his mouth at his ear. Isn't even about the feeling of having to swallow Jon or choke on him. It's the sheer cruelty of it — he can't concentrate on holding himself off and on giving good oral at the same time. Can't go somewhere else in his head like he did during their last threesome, and wouldn't want to. He likes this too much. 

Being known like that, that's what has him whining at the back of his throat. He opens his eyes to look at Jon, a little pleading but mostly because he wants to paint a pretty picture. Winning seems unlikely, but he did promise he'd try to be good. Besides, he's not sure he wants to know what Peter will punish him with if he comes first. So he throws himself into it — normally when he blows Jon he's slow, teasing, enjoying himself. This time he's hoping that if he just sheathes Jon's cock in the hot channel of his throat at a rhythmic enough pace he can drag him over the edge.

 

Jon's choking on his own sounds, makes an effort stop himself from stifling them. Elias likes them, he knows, and that's what he wants right now. If that can act as some small reward then so be it.

It's certainly rewarding to see Elias like this, a little strange to have Peter suddenly shoving Elias' head with brutal force and pace, barely giving Elias enough time to breath. Jon reaches out when Peter shoves Elias as deep as he can go with a chuckle, and Jon's runs his hands through Elias' hair, smooths the rough patches where Peter pulled, thumbs lovingly at his temple. "Lord, Elias, you feel-" he tries, voice cracking. He certainly is close, and he's not entirely sure what outcome to this little task he should want more.

Peter lets go of the hair to focus on Elias' cock, brings his hand up to spit in it unceremoniously and offer at least a little slide. He shifts behind Elias, stroking him roughly and pointedly out of rhythm with his mouth on Jon, chuckles into his collar before biting at it with an obvious intent to cause pain. 

"That's it, Elias? Come on, I threw you an easy one here, nothing you like more than using that pretty mouth of yours. He's not even squirming yet- what's wrong, distracted? Not in as much control as you planned?" At that he stops moving his hand, reaches and pulls Elias off Jon's cock by the hair. "Go on, tell me why you don't have him screaming yet. And apologize, of course."

 

Elias isn't easy to draw back, the first real struggle he's shown this whole time, just because he doesn't want to stop, looks mournfully for a moment at Jon's cock as it smacks wetly away from him, leaves a long thick string of saliva on his chin. Just as he was starting to really think he could have done it.

His lashes go low, almost closed. "Apologize..." he echoes, a little lust-dazed and breathless from all this use of his throat. Not to mention Peter's hand on him so exactly how he likes it that he couldn't do a better job himself, the kind of rough fast pace he'd use to get off fast. It takes him a moment to regain real coherency, and even then. Physical obedience is one thing; debasing himself verbally is another. Peter making him talk always fucking breaks him.

But then he looks up, damp-lashed and messy, and meets Jon's eyes, and he feels safe even if his ears are burning. "I'm sorry," he says, forcing his voice to be steady around the crackle of wetness in his throat, like he thinks he might actually get through this without Peter turning him into a desperate, humiliated mess. "That I haven't been able to make you come. I'm trying, I swear."

 

"Damnit Peter," Jon breaths, and Peter just grins from behind Elias. He'd probably have more to say but the picture Elias makes is hard to look away from. He leans forward, painfully hard, and reaches to brush the saliva from Elias' chin with his thumb. 

"He sounds sincere, but he's a _very_ good liar," Peter muses, still fully clothed and smiling lazily as he tugs Elias' hair before he can think to try and suck Jon's fingers. 

"He _is_ sincere," Jon argues, a strain in his tone but trying to focus as he glances to Peter. "I think he was doing a _stellar_ job, thank you."

Peter hums, gives Elias' cock a slow pump as he considers. "I could make him beg for a second chance."

" _Peter_ ," Jon's all flustered exasperation, reaches again to cup Elias' face. "Give him a chance to at least fail your little task before you go punishing him."

Peter makes a show of considering before releasing Elias' hair. "You should thank the Archivist for that before you go back to his cock. We'll just have to make you beg later."

 

"Thank you," Elias says quietly, and he sounds a little flip but he looks at Jon like he's the world, so boy does he mean it. Having someone actually arguing in his defense against Peter's cruelty is strangely touching.

He fails anyway. Obviously. 

Jon being gentle with him, the goddamn sweetness of his praise, undoes Elias completely, and the moment Peter starts stroking again, he gets a little frantic. The blowjob turns sloppy as he makes desperate noises around it, tries to hold off, tries to buck into Peter's hand, tries to hold Jon in his spasming throat like he might, in the last possible second—

No. He flushes hot and cold at the same time, and comes, pulling off Jon completely to press his face to his thigh and gasp for air. It isn't even a good orgasm, he's trying too hard to ruin it, but he's made a mess so it's Peter's victory.

 

And hey, Peter's thrilled by it, chuckling into Elias' neck as he strokes him through the orgasm. "What was that about not punishing him until he failed?"

Jon can't exactly retort, Elias' last minute attempts to bring him over the edge weren't successful but they certainly left him winded and shuddering. He resists the urge to touch himself, fairly certain he'd end up coming in Elias' hair in an instant if he did, and runs his fingers softly through Elias' hair instead. When he finally speaks it's deeply strained, "You... sabotaged."

"Never said I'd play fair," Peter says with amusement, squeezing Elias a moment before letting go and standing. "I'll be getting your lube- finish the poor Archivist off, with your hands, thank you. Already failed with your mouth, hm?" He ruffles Elias' hair before retreating.

 

Elias shiver-shudders, but sits up. He's tempted to blow Jon anyway, but instead stretches his arms over his head until he can pop some discomfort in his shoulder, then holds out an inviting hand. 

"Come down here?" he asks, since he knows Peter would punish him for unkneeling but he can't restrict him from touching Jon or Jon from touching him and he wants to be held for a moment. Jon is visibly on the edge, and even in this miserable state Elias can appreciate that. Kisses his tense jaw, massages around the base of his cock, rolls his balls, keeping him there a moment longer.

But Peter isn't exactly going to be gone long, unless he's going to go searching for the sex toys Elias does actually have in a drawer somewhere in that minimalist bedroom. So he doesn't tease long, just holds Jon and strokes him firmly.

 

Jon does as asked, climbs down and smiles in amusement despite the strain. "Not exactly what Peter had in mind, I imagine," he murmurs dryly, groans against Elias' jaw as Elias touches him. "But... but he should have- ah, should have stayed then. That is his problem."

Jon kisses him, making keening noises into Elias' mouth, and Peter returns just as Jon gives a shuddering gasp and comes in Elias' hand.

"Ugh, you two," Peter rolls his eyes as he approaches, grabbing Elias' by the bicep and pulling him up. "Can't tone if down to save your lives, can you?"

 

Maybe to save each other's. Definitely not their own. 

Peter hauls him up and away from gentling Jon through his aftershocks, which is a terrible tragedy, but Elias goes, murmurs "Love you," very quietly to Jon just in case he somehow doesn't know by now, and also because he's feeling it. When everything else is more uncertain than it's ever been, letting Peter do as he will with him, that feels like something solid to hold onto.

Notably, he's a mess; his own come and Jon's both splashed across his thighs and groin now, his mouth wet from hard use.

 

Probably save each others, and Peter rolls his eyes hard at that 'I love you' before shoving Elias into a kneeling position and slamming him chest first onto coffee table. So much for being careful with the furniture, to be fair he'd be overjoyed to break something and then pay for it. Asshole.

Anyway he's not that careless, kicked it clear before doing so and exerts some level of control so the table's fine. He doesn't seem to use the same care with Elias, and Jon makes a noise of protest despite himself, something that makes Peter laugh. "He can take it. And if he can't he'll just have to tell me to stop, won't he?"

Jon huffs, still breathless, tucking himself back in and crawling over to press a kiss to Elias' temple. "I love you too," he says as quietly as he's able, into the shell of Elias' ear. "You're doing so well." 

On the tail end of that Peter shoves two slick fingers into Elias. "You're a disgusting mess, Elias, and we've barely begun. Guess you are getting old."

 

Elias goes down hard, plush carpet burning his knees, the coffee table colliding sharply with his abdomen, and he grunts. But Peter's right, he can take it, even if it's a little embarrassing to have Jon know that about him. To know that Peter knows. To be taking it like this, without complaint or his usual thrashing away.

"I'm fine," he promises Jon breathlessly when he's close, wishing he could have more time and state of mind to be properly reassuring. Maybe he should have been clearer about this, that when he challenges Peter to give it to him rough, he means spit-on-your-bleeding-enemies rough. 

But he also knows Jon's concern won't hold Peter back at all, is proven right moments later at that violent intrusion. His arousal is banked embers now, so it just hurts, but he likes that too, groans and lifts his ass a little as Peter fingers him like a meathook.

 

Peter, unsurprisingly, does not take his time, fingers working with loud, slick sounds and rough movements. It's probably closer to what they did when they were younger, only the barest amount of restraint with Elias' caveat of 'no big or visible injuries before the wedding.' "Why don't you tell him how you like it like this, Elias?" Because Peter is cruel, and if he's not allowed to leave those particularly harsh marks he's going to make Elias debase himself in front of Jon completely. If he didn't know his disgustingly in love they were he'd consider it a little test.

Despite his concern Jon's gaze is avid, fixed on Elias' face with the same look he tended to get when experiencing something new. That doesn't stop him from soothing his hand over Elias' hair, gentle against the reddening bites on his collar. "Yes, tell me," he says, an undercurrent of compulsion because he's a bit of a shit head too. He presses a kiss to Elias' forehead though, tender, smiles against it.

 

The compulsion is good, though, helps ease Elias into talking. It doesn't affect him, still, but it's an excellent placebo, to lean into the way it makes him feel and murmur: "Peter has always been particularly talented at knowing where to draw the line with me. He knows I love — " he chokes off suddenly, something brutal happening to his prostate, and he has to push his face into the table with a sob of a noise. 

"I— I like it punishingly rough," is what he manages eventually, looking at Jon like the sight of him is s touchstone — but his hands are behind his back again, without so much as being asked. "There's something about the adrenaline of it." A groan, both because of what Peter's doing and because if he wanted his limits pushed with just adrenaline he'd work out. "And the— the humiliation, of being properly handled— I think somewhere in all that childhood corporal punishment my wires got crossed somehow—"

His eyes close, struggling to maintain this level of composure and coherency, and he pushes back into Peter's hand greedily, like his body thinks if it works hard enough he'll get hard again this quickly. Whatever Peter is doing to him has him dripping despite his soft cock.

 

Peter chuckles at the explanation, the hand he has resting on Elias' flank almost fond before he strikes it with a sharp smack. He focuses on Elias' prostate, spreading his fingers then adding a third just to make Elias take a little more than he probably could. He grips Elias' hip hard, tries to plant bruises deep. 

"Funny to see him like this, isn't it? When I first saw him at that party, put together and steel in his suit and new power-" Peter chuckles, pushes against Elias' prostate hard. The hand at Elias' hip shifts to Elias' cock, testing, swirling the precum over the head with his thumb. "I wanted to break him apart and leave him a writhing mess on the floor. Wanted to choke him with his own tie as he asked for more."

"Did you?" There's the compulsion again, and whether Jon meant for it is hard to tell. His hands still soothe over Elias' face, neck, collar - he speaks to Peter but he watches Elias.

And Peter breaths out at the compulsion under his skin, forcing an answer. "I did, eventually." He grasps Elias' cock now, tone going low and heated. "Come on, Elias, you're not getting anything else soft like this."

 

Elias makes a happy noise at the smack, the sound of it ringing in his ears, and when he opens his eyes he looks almost entreatingly at Jon, as if to say: get him to give me more of that.

But Peter's thumb is harsh over the oversensitive head, even as he basically milks him, and Elias keens then as well, squirms like he wants to get away — it's not fighting, it's not even really voluntary, just an autonomic reaction to the sharp-hot ache in his cock. 

"I can't," he admits, jagged — leave him alone, he's old.

 

"What was that Elias? Say that again please," Peter takes delight, of course, in forcing Elias to admit anything that he might not want to, not moving his hand from his cock as he did. If anything he gives it a rougher treatment, watching and waiting.

Jon, on the other hand, takes that look in. He's not exactly someone good at reading looks, a disaster of a human being when it came to that kind of simple empathy, but here he seems to understand. It could be for many reasons- he knew Elias well enough, the sound Elias made ringing sharp, maybe even some ridiculous infomod powers deciding to snatch the information from between the lines and force Jon to see it. Never let it be said kinky sex wasn't proving a useful Archivist training tool for some damn reason.

He kisses Elias' temple and looks at Peter, "I thought you were going to punish him."

"I was," Peter glances over, interested. "I _am_ , I'd say. You have something in mind, Archivist?"

"He just- he made quite the lovely sound before, when you struck him," Jon admits, slight fluster, and even if it's sincere it does help the little deception, making Peter laugh. 

"Oh, he'd enjoy that too much. Well, it would be a very good way to show you his _limits_."

He pulls his hand from Elias' cock, slapping the same spot on Elias' flank, harder and stinging.

 

"I. Can't." Elias says clearly, his voice hoarse but each word otherwise perfectly enunciated. Despite this crisp diction life he's trying to shrug off the shame, he's flushed with it.

And then Jon steps in and Elias loves him so much, his clever Archivist. Whether it's Beholding power or just familiarity that transcends spoken discussion, he doesn't care, it's equally wonderful. Peter stops being rough where he's super sensitive and Elias says in momentary relief, only to start back into tension at another slap. 

He makes the same kind of noise again, low and happy, fingers curling. "Fuck," he adds, anticipatory, and he brings his hands forward again to grip the edge of the coffee table. He might be about to be proven a liar, feeling his cock twitch hard at the sting of Peter's firm hand. "Please," he murmurs, low, though whether it's for mercy or for more or just because he knows what Peter likes is unclear.

 

Peter isn't really one for mercy, that's something Jon's come to realize as he watches Peter strike Elias again. His pattern has no rhyme or reason, out of beat and varied in strength, refusing to let Elias anticipate the next blow in any way. Unlike these ancient, ancient old men Jon can already feel himself stirring again with interest, soaking up the sounds Elias makes.

Elias' skin is a sharp red by the time Peter finally pauses for any real length of time, resting his hand on the sore areas and pressing down without mercy to test. "How's that Elias, been a while, hasn't it?" his tone is whet to a sharp edge, more intent than Jon could remember seeing on him. "You're so damn predictable, even after all these years. I haven't even put my cock in you and you're already a nice, pretty mess for me. Like riding a bike," he runs his hand over the spot in an almost tender way before striking it once more. "I missed it."

Gross, feelings. "Now, why don't you beg me to fuck you? See Archivist, this is the part I usually have to work quite hard for, and even then Elias is stubbornly prideful. You better make me believe it, Elias, or we can draw this out for quite a while."

 

Elias is absolutely a nice pretty mess for him; the blows may be varied but the pain of them blurs together into a sweet high, leaving Elias shivery and out of his head — addicts are always addicts. He's never been so pliant for it, and giving in willingly lends it a new aspect, something he didn't expect. Or maybe that's Jon, steadily present, watching him come apart.

He is, in fact, half hard by the time of Peter's last slap, his profession of _missing_ this — that gets its claws in some vulnerable places and he doesn't have the wherewithal to hold back that it hurts, maybe more than Peter's spanking.

But at this point what vestigial shame Elias actually has is used up. There's still a pause, where he could go either direction, and then he picks himself up a little from where he's puddled onto his expensive coffee table. Just getting his elbows under him so he can catch his breath, clear his throat. His head is hung forward, hair limply damp and messy from Jon's fingers. 

"Please," he manages. "Peter. Love." Disgustingly sincere with that one. "I've been so good for you. Please fuck me." He bites his lip after, and then buries his face in his forearms: apparently that's it, that's his limit on compliance.

 

Jon tears his gaze from Elias to watch Peter's reaction, some part of him sensing it worth seeing. And he's right, Peter's eye are darker than he's ever seen them, pupils blown wide and a fine, pained shudder at _love_. Peter slaps the reddened spot one more time viciously before his hands move to his belt.

"Well done," Jon murmurs to Elias, curled up against the coffee table as he watches Peter shed his belt then push his pants and briefs down. Peter doesn't undress, not fully, and Jon wonders if it's part of the whole charade or if Peter was hiding the lingering signs of recent starvation. He decides, thankfully, not to ask as Peter slicks himself up and positions behind Elias.

Peter presses in, unrelenting, hands gripping Elias' hips hard. "I notice- _fuck_ -" he mutters, breaks off with a laugh, presses deeper as he continues, "I notice you're getting hard again, Elias. I thought you said you can't?" He sheathes himself fully, takes barely a moment before pulling back and snapping his hips back in. "Predictable, as always."

 

Elias grunts at the intrusion, clenching all over and then forcing himself to relax and take it. This is what he'd asked for — begged for. Peter inside him, deep and good, using him to get off. It makes Elias feel tangibly wanted — though he's not quite so desperate for that feeling, these days. Not when, if he lifts his head, there's Jon.

Elias gropes for Jon's hand, then, because it's one of the few things he's allowed and he needs something to hold onto right now, even if that means his other arm has to brace against Peter's movement on its own.

"Jon," he whispers like a prayer, because he really has a one track mind right now. "Archivist."

 

Jon shifts, kneels to better take Elias' hand. His other cups Elias' jaw, pressing their foreheads together. "Elias," he whispers back, feels strangely like he's being given a gift of some value to be able to see everything he just has. Peter's movements are too rough to hold himself there, jostling them both with each brutal thrust, so he takes to feathering kisses up Elias' neck and jaw, to the corner of his mouth, whispering "I'm here," into his skin.

If Peter has any eyerolling saved for this he says nothing, lets the force of his thrusts and pain of his grip speak for him. He's sure to snap his hips into the sore red skin he worked on earlier, tries to shake Elias' who body with each thrust and, maybe, Jon with him. Peter watches them and it's with a look both hungry and deeply, unfathomably pained. He smiles into it, huffs something that was likely a laugh once but comes out stillborn, and ups his pace. 

He reaches one hand to grasp at Elias' cock, testing. He was adamant about getting Elias to come again if he could manage, it seems.

 

Elias managed to get hard — getting off is another thing all together. Not that there isn't great pleasure in this, waves of it, Peter taking him roughly while Jon gives him all the sweetness and affection he's come to crave from the man. It takes some essential dichotomy in him and brings it gently back together, and it's this, more than anything else, that has him entirely undone.

He doesn't cry. Even this open, he can't, like he's cauterized that part of himself so well that he only sheds emotional tears at the most extreme points of his life. But he swears in high and broken tones, begs again with a lot less composure, muffled litanies of need. Needing Jon closer, needing Peter deeper. Wishing it was Jon stroking him, wishing he could kiss Peter. Eventually he lapses back into a stunned lull. Dreamy and compliant beyond belief.

Normally he can take it quite hard and pick himself back up again after. This is not feeling like one of those times. Possibly he's bitten off slightly more than he can chew, here.

 

Eventually Peter can't hold out, growls deep in his chest and surges forward, the table straining with it. Even with his eyes closed he can hear Jon murmuring softly to Elias, strange and sweet against the lewd smacks and heaved breaths and curses. When Peter forces his eyes open he finds Jon watching him like he could take him apart and see what was underneath. It scares him and he laughs, closes his eyes again, feels Elias tremble around him as he spends painfully inside Elias.

He manages to keep himself up, panting, listening to the murmurs from Jon and Elias' breathing. He pulls out and collapses on the couch a moment, tilting his head back, shuddering with the feeling. When he comes to Jon's still sitting with Elias, hand and hand.

"Can you get him to the bedroom?" Jon asks him, tone going slightly dry. "Strapping sailor that you are."

"Anything for you, Archivist," Peter answers snidely back, even though he takes a few moments to zip himself up and breath.

Normally lifting Elias would be nothing for him, and even weakened as he is he manages without too much strain when he lifts him bridal style. He's surprisingly careful getting him to bed- "The old man might break if I push him anymore," and when he's done Jon shoves him towards the bed.

"Lie down for god's sake. I'm getting water and such."

"Jesus, Elias really did train you well." Peter complains. He does take the water when Jon returns with it. Jon then climbs over to gently clean Elias off with a wet washcloth, pausing only to kiss him here and there.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

 

Elias is aware enough of Peter carrying him but the embarrassment or delight of it doesn't really register; neither does he have any shame in parting his legs for Jon to clean the mess they'd collectively made of him; the soft sheets sing sweetly over his bright skin but pain doesn't feel like a bad thing, just a neutral sensation, more stimulus for his blissed out body. 

He loops an arm around Jon's neck and tips his face up to be kissed; only once he's received it does he answer: "More than." Nuzzles Jon a moment. He probably seems a little like he's on drugs, but mostly it's just the chemical cocktail of subspace.

Though he isn't totally wrapped up in his Archivist; he looks around for Peter. Finds him also on the bed, far too clothed and far too composed. Elias decides it's time to claim that kiss he's been wanting — he doesn't need any reassurance to know that he's been very very good.

 

Jon smiles as he kisses back, placing a hand over Elias' chest as he does. He follows Elias' glance to Peter, offers a quirked brow as Peter shakes his head and leans over.

"You make a good mess, Elias," there's some reassurance, in a flippant way, and he shifts closer to kiss him long and hard, a nip at the end. When he pulls back he watches him a moment, curiously, before huffing a laugh. "Well, I got my favour it seems. Worth babysitting the Archivist, even if he was a brat."

Jon gives him a withering look look for that, huddling up closer to Elias' side.

 

Elias isn't sure if Peter is happy or not; isn't sure if Peter even knows. But he seems satiated, and content enough with Elias' performance, rewards him with a kiss. Elias licks his lips after and then tucks himself into Jon. "Good," says Elias. Probably both of them doing something they only pretended not to want to do for free is an equivalent exchange.

He's still a little restlessly aroused just because everything feels good, but mostly occupies himself with snuggling into Jon, hands wandering over him, cuddling close — Peter can come too if he wants, Elias will happily be the meat in this sandwich, in a non-cannibal way.

"I like seeing you two work together," he admits quietly, and he doesn't rrrreally mean Institute fieldwork.

 

Jon's more than happy to cuddle, running his hand up and down Elias' chest soothingly. When Peter doesn't shift over to join after a few moments Jon makes an annoyed sound and reaches over Elias to grab Peter's shirt and tug. "Just get over here, for god's sake. Lord, you're impossible."

Peter makes him work for it, of course, Jon's pulling mostly useless until Peter finally shifts over with the most long suffering sigh he can manage. "Brat." He offers that with a smirk, gets a shove on the arm for his troubles as he rests his hand on Elias' abdomen. "Hmm, I have a feeling you mean in the bedroom- or living room, I suppose."

"Peter has his uses in both," Jon sniffs, the effect ruined by how he fucking nuzzles Elias' temple.

 

"He certainly does," agrees Elias, linking his and Peter's fingers together. This (second) love of his life is such an emotionally unavailable fuckwad, probably more than Jon and Elias put together, but Elias is going to keep trying. (Yeah, trying his nerves.)

Anyway hopefully if they have any residual processing to do about this whole thing they can do it together; for his part, Elias drinks some more water and falls rapidly into sleep.

God, he's going to be so fucking sore in the morning, Beholding monster healing or not. Despite that, if Peter's still there in the morning it's absolutely his turn to receive the Elias alarm clock special, which just involves quietly blowing him and then letting him fall back to sleep.

 

Hey guess what, for once Elias is the asleep one while two people talk over him. How the turn tables.

"You have to be prepared when he dies, you know," Peter says quietly, watching Jon trace patterns into Elias' skin that freeze at the words. "I wasn't sure you'd survive him, not at first, but now I think you may have a shot. If you don't get yourself killed doing something hopelessly stupid or emotional you'll outlive him by mm... quite a bit."

"I'm aware," Jon mutters, shoulders tense. "I'm not stupid, Peter, I understand that caring for someone means having to deal with what happens when they're gone."

"Not like Elias," Peter watches him, no smiles, just emptiness that Jon almost finds soothing now, damn it all. "When Elias dies there will always be a piece of him in the next Head, right within your grasp but never actually there. It's absurdly cruel, yeah? I'm looking forward to it, watching you go mad with grief."

Jon's eyes narrow. "Then why are you even warning me? If you're so looking forward to it."

"Because I don't want it to destroy you completely," Peter finally smiles, winks, "only a little."

Jon curls closer to Elias, holds him a little tighter, and laugh softly. "How romantic of you." When Peter shifts he reaches out, grabs his wrist. "Will you stay the night if I promise not to ask why you won't leave your family?"

And Peter considers him a long moment before sighing and settling back down. "I'm spoiling you both."

So yes, Peter is there and more than happy to receive his blowjob alarm clock. Jon's probably already up before both of them, unable to sleep well between Peter's comments and the anticipation of the day ahead. He'll raise his head to hear Peter's groans and smile to himself, shaking his head and sipping his coffee from where he's curled on the couch. Kind of hard to keep pouring over files when someone's loudly getting a blowjob, fucking horndogs.

 

Elias climbs up Peter's body after and like, looks like he wants an innocent sleepy kiss and then gives him a mouthful of his own come instead like an asshole. He's terrible. They're both terrible. 

"Go back to sleep, old man," Elias murmurs, wicked, and flees. He was sort of planning to go and work out, but when he spots Jon he gravitates over to him instead, slides up alongside him.

"Good morning," he says, steals a sip of Jon's coffee. "I'm a mess." Physically, emotionally, take your pick. He's kind of a dumbass. Still, he had a good time, even if he's slightly embarrassed about it in the cold light of day. "Thank you for looking after me last night," he remembers to tell Jon, kissing his cheek fondly.

 

Peter probably licks his mouth clean of it so let's be real, they're the worst. He tries slapping at any sore spot before Elias goes, happy to go back to sleep, thanks. 

Jon, meanwhile, looks deeply amused when Elias proclaims that. "A very lovely one," he assures, offering up more of his coffee should the gross old man want some more. "Well, I did get quite the show out of it, so I assure you it was no trouble." Also a great blowjob so... who's complaining.

He places his cup down (on the same coffee table they fucked on, wow) and wraps his arms around Elias firmly, kissing his neck and absolutely thinking, a moment, how Peter was right that he'd probably go at least a little mad with grief. Damnit all. When he pulls back it's with a quirked brow. "Do you need ice for anything? Painkillers?"

 

Goddammit Peter, ruining a perfectly nice morning after by making Jon think about Elias' inevitable death. Not that Elias knows; he hugs Jon back tightly for a few moments, and then relaxes into him.

"No thank you," Elias says, perhaps a little residually in a polite headspace. "I like to feel it." He kisses Jon's nose. "I will, however, take a hot shower and get ready for work — and heat some more coffee, if you'd like a refill." But not straight away; he lingers just a little longer in Jon's space first, mildly worried about his planned visit to Pinhole books.

 

"I would love a refill," Jon answers, and is more than happy to linger because of the whole Peter being a butt thing.

Speaking of, the two of them will hear after a bit, "Elias you damn _cunt_!" from Elias' study.

Jon starts, then looks at Elias in confusion. "What did you do?" Offensive but. Fair.

 

Elias looks confused for a moment, and then laughs when he remembers. "Who me?" he asks unconvincingly innocently. "Peter gave over his phone believing I would go through his messages from Nathaniel, but instead I simply deleted one of his little phone games. In fairness, he had his feet on my desk."

 

"Oh, yes that sounds like fair retribution," Jon answers in complete sincerity. Peter comes out then, tapping on his phone as he head over. You better believe the first thing he does is rough house Elias by pulling him off Jon and straddling him on the couch.

"Do you know what my high score was?" he asks, pinning Elias as Jon rolls his eyes.

"Don't be too rough, he has work soon, thank you," Jon mediates as he stands to reheat his own damn coffee.

 

Elias doesn't have to play nice anymore, so he struggles, bright-eyed, trying to tip Peter off the couch and land atop him. It's not even a play struggle, ignoring the aches in his body to do his best to overpower him. God, they're children.

 

Everyone in this thread is actually five. Jon watches them from the kitchen, rolling his eyes as Peter laughs and and they tip onto the floor. They're more evenly matched with Peter's lingering weakness but, of course, that doesn't stop Peter from both ignoring that condition and ignoring Jon's order not to be too rough. Actual children.

It ends with Elias on top but Peter holding his wrists in a vice grip. "You owe me _again_ now," Peter informs him, nails digging in and grinning sharp. "I've been working on that score for years, you bastard."

Meanwhile Jon just ignores them right back, goes and gets changed, comes out in time to enjoy his second cup of coffee. Ah, just a normal day in the ridiculous expensive penthouse with two grown men rolling around on the floor.

 

Elias bares his teeth, and it's not a smile. Leans his elbows hard on Peter's chest. "I don't owe you _anything_ , you absolute prick." But then he offsets it with a kiss, slow and soft. "I have to get ready for work."

 

"I beg to differ," Peter answers snidely back, releases him as though he's being a good boy only to pinch the sore, red skin of Elias' flank.

Jon walks over as he gets up, brow quirked. "Yes, please let him get ready, he _is_ my ride. Since you no longer keep the flesh puppets away I'd rather not walk to work."

"So sorry to inconvenience the Archivist," Peter drawls, then apparently decides Jon must be jealous of being left out of rough housing and just sort of. Picks him up like a snarky bag of potatoes.

"Peter, put me down!"

"No."

So that's what they'll be doing when Elias is getting ready. Idiots.


End file.
